SB    273    312 


THE  MELLOW  YEAR 

A  Man's  Songs  of  Friendship 


JAMES   W.   FOLEY 


GIFT  OF 
Sir  Henry  fieyman 


THE  MELLOW  YEAR 

A  Man's  Songs  of  Friendship 

- 


BY 


JAMES  W.   FOLEY 

Author  of  "Boys  and  Girls,"  "Tales  of  the  Trail,' 

"Voices  of   Song,"  "Friendly   Rhymes," 

"Songs  of   Schooldays,"  "The 

Letters  of  William  Green" 


PASADENA,  CALIFORNIA 

The  Author's  Press 

1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921 
BY  JAMES  W.  FOLEY 


The     Lovin'est    Child 


He's  th'  lovin'est  child 

That  you  ever  did  see, 
Since   the  first  time  he  smiled 

His  glad  smile  up  at  me. 
He's  th'  soul  of  real  mirth 

And  th'  Lord  must  have  smiled 
When  he  came  to  this  earth, 

Just  th'  lovin'est  child. 

He's  th'  lovin'est  boy, 

He's  so  friendly  and  glad, 
Of  his  mother  the  joy, 

And  the  pride  of  his  Dad. 
He's  as  soft  and  as  sweet 

As  a  Spring  day  is  mild, 
From  his  head  to  his  feet 

Just  th'  lovin'est  child. 

He  looks  up  with  a  grin 

And  he  gurgles  his  tunes 
From  the  cradle  he's  in, 

And  he  chuckles  and  croons; 
And  he  lifts  up  his  arms 

To  his  Mother  or  Dad, 
He's  just  brimming  with  charms, 

Just  th'  lovin'est  lad. 

Since  the  day  that  he  came, 

And  we  looked  on  his  face, 
Well,  the  world's  not  the  same, 

It's  th'  splendidest  place 
Out  o'  Heaven,  I  know. 

Yes,  th'  Lord  must  have  smiled 
When  he  fashioned  him  so, 

Just  th'  lovinest  child. 

Just  th'  lovin'est  child, 

With  his  glad  eyes  that  shine, 
Like  a  Spring  sunbeam  mild, 

With  his  cheek  against  mine. 
See  him  tumble  and  roll — , 

How  th'  Lord  must  have  smiled 
When  he  breathed  in  th'  soul 

Of  that  lovin'est  child. 


"THE  FAMILY"  EDITION 


To  the  Children  of  the  "Fam 
ily"  of  San  Francisco,  Califor 
nia,  with  the  friendliness  of 
one  of  the  "lovin'est  children." 


&u 


SONGS  OF  FRIENDSHIP 


The    Mellow   Year 1 

Unafraid 7 

The  Legacies 9 

Forgot 11 

On  the  Square 13 

Loving— That's  All 15 

What  Might  Have  Been 17 

The   Grief   ...       . 18 

The  Potter  and  the   Clay       .      .      .      .      .      «      .      .      .20 

Father  William  to  Date .    22 

Brothers 24 

Hospice 26 

Lost 29 

No  Man's  Land .      .....    31 

Knowledge 33 

Brothers  of  Men 34 

A  Little  Song 35 

My  Neighbor  and  I 37 

Just  Between  Us  Two 39 

Just  Being  Kind .      .    41 

The   Little   Things 43 

The   End   of  the   Road 45 

Let's  Play  a  Little  While 47 

A    Brother    of    Mine -  ...    49 

A  Pretty  Good  World "  .      .    51 

Things  a  Man  May  Do 53 

A  Very  Little  Song 56 

Just  Around  the  Corner 58 

The  Understanding 60 

To  Meet  the  Day 62 

Virtue 64 

Peep  o'  Dawn 66 

Singing  Along 68 

Keep  Sweet 70 


5. V<i  ;' 


An    Epitaph .72 

When  a  Feller  Makes  Good 74 

The  Newsboy's  Friend 75 

Lend  a  Hand 79 

A  Field  of  Clover 81 

Hymn  of  Praise 85 

Song  of  Hope 86 

Cherry  Blossom  Time .87 

Mahmoud  of  Ispahan 92 

A  Song  of  Every  Day .95 

Song  of  Friendship 95 

The   Place  of   Broken   Things 98 

Unfit 100 

The  Secret  .      .      .      .      , 101 

Before  the  Winter  Came 103 

The  Masquerade 105 

Tomorrow 108 

Yesterday «...  110 

Last  Verse  of  All    .  .112 


THE    MELLOW    YEAR 


The    Mellow    Year 


I  been  sittin'  here  tonight 
Dreamin'  as  by  candle  light; 
Kind  o'  thinkin' — just  about 
Fur  an'  wide  as  all  get-out; 
Nothin'  deep  an'  hard  to  do, 
Just  about  th'  same  as  you 
Might  if  you  was  joggin'  slow 
Back  some  forty  years  or  so 
On  the  way  of  Life.    An'  say! 
She's  a  good  world,  anyway. 
Good  to  travel,  in  an'  out, 
Good  to  learn  an'  think  about, 
Good  to  dream  of  an'  t'  smile, 
Good  to  wonder  what's  worth  while, 
Good  to  lend  a  helpin'  hand, 
Better  still,  to  understand. 

'Pears  like  Wisdom,  she  ain't  done 
Much  for  us  at  twenty- one. 
Feller's  got  book-learnin',  too; 
Knows  what  makes  the  sky  so  blue, 
Knows  what  makes  it  rain  an'  snow, 
Knows  why  everything  is  so. 
Lord,  how  he  does  love  to  spout 
Streams  of  straight  book-learnin'  out; 
Educated  just  immense, 
Full  of  knowledge,  but  no  sense; 


The    Mellow    Year 


Wave  his  hand  in  air  just  so, 
Ready  for  to  overthrow 
Empires,  continents  and  kings, 
All  the  old,  established  things; 
Feller'd  think,  to  hear  him  scold, 
He's  th'  judgment  book  unrolled, 
Passin'  wisdom's  last  decree 
On  th'  world,  an'  you  an'  me. 

Well,  that's  Youth;  an'  I  recall 
Mine,  and  how  I  knowed  most  all 
Of  th'  things  from  Genesis 
Clean  to  Revelations.     Yes, 
Ready  to  stand  up  an'  throw 
Rocks  at  Solon,  Cicero, 
Plato  and  Demosthenes 
An'  such  little  lights  as  these. 
Pass  my  judgment  quicker'n  scat 
On  th'  truth  of  this  an'  that, 
Spillin'  wisdom  from  my  cup 
Quicker'n  worlds  could  soak  it  up. 

Youth,  since  then,  I've  kind  o'  found, 
Youth  ain't  got  no  middle  ground, 
Goes  whole-hog  or  none  a,t  all 
On  all  questions  great  an'  small. 


The    Mellow    Year 


Measures  like  they  do  in  school 
Life  with  Learnin's  three-foot  rule, 
Every  question's  got  to  be 
Settled  with  a  Q.  E.  D. 

Old  Book-Learnin's  three-foot  rule 
Comes  in  mighty  good  in  school 
I'll  allow,  an'  has  its  place 
But  it  ain't  th'  human  race 
By  no  means,  and  Life  don't  look 
Like  it's  printed  in  a  book. 
An'  I'd  like  a  rule  to  show 
What  makes  certain  fellers  so; 
Why  some  husky,  strappin'  lout 
In  th'  fight  goes  down  an'  out, 
While  some  runty  little  jay 
Lifts  the  Flag  and  leads  the  way. 

Ain't  no  learnin'  will  amount 
To  a  bean-hill  that  don't  count 
Human  bein's  as  they  be 
X  for  unknown  quantity. 
Ain't  no  learnin'  is  complete 
That  don't  keep  a  feller  sweet, 
Ready  to  come  't  least  half  ways, 
Kind  o'  keerful  what  he  says, 


The    Mellow    Year 


Always  more'n  half  inclined 
To  be  merciful  and  kind, 
Willin'  to  admit  that  he 
Might  be  wrong  and  to  agree 
With  th'  'leven  rather'n  stay 
Sot  in  his  own  stubborn  way. 

Life  ain't  some  book-learnin'  fact 

Mathematically  exact, 

And  don't  f  oiler  no  set  rule 

Like  a  feller  learns  in  school, 

And  when  he  learns  that  he's  come 

To  be  educated  some, 

Was  a  time  once  when  I'd  pass 

Judgment  just  like  pull  in'  grass 

On  my  neighbors — knowed  just  what 

Orto  be  and  orto  not. 

But  as  years  have  gone  somehow 

I  don't  judge  nobody  now, 

And  I  don't  want  none  to  be 

Always  ready  to  judge  me. 

Thirty's  better'n  twenty-one; 
Wisdom's  kind  'o  just  begun 
Then — a  feller's  gettin'  ripe 
Like  a  year-old  meerschaum  pipe 


The    Mellow    Year 


That  you've  smoked  along  and  brung 

Where  th'  smoke  don't  burn  your  tongue. 

An'  y'  sort  o'  like  to  squint 

Down  th'  bowl  and  get  a  hint 

How  th'  color's  goin'  to  show 

In  a  couple  years  or  so. 

Then  there's  Forty — I  dunno, 

Forty  ca'ms  a  feller  so, 

Makes  him  mellow  like  an'  mild, 

More  th'  sperrit  of  th'  child. 

He  just  wants  to  love  an'  live 

Help  a  little  an'  forgive, 

Find  what's  really  Happiness, 

Feel  contented  like  with  less. 

Judgment  ain't  as  quick  an'  stern, 

Willin'er  I  think  to  learn; 

Much  more  ready  to  admit 

T'other  feller's  view  of  it, 

Even  if  'taint  his  idee, 

Leastways  it  seems  so  to  me. 

Understandin' !    That's  th'  thing ! 
Ain't  no  book'll  ever  bring 
That.    You're  got  to  hit  th'  road 
Carryin'  a  real  man's  load. 


The    Mellow   Year 


Struggle  as  a  feller  must, 

Throat  plumb  dry  an'  choked  with  dust. 

Bein'  tempted,  slippin'  some, 

Needin'  help  but  bein'  dumb. 

Hopin',  prayin',  wonderin'  what 

May  be  Truth  an'  may  be  not. 

Wantin'  sympathy  an'  cheer, 

Wishin'  There  was  only  Here. 

Needin'  to  be  understood 

As  a  feller  half-way  good, 

Fightin',  strivin'  as  men  do, 

Failin',  just  like  me  an'  you, 

Great  sometimes  an'  sometimes  small, 

And  just  human  after  all. 

Somethin'  'bout  it,  I  dunno, 
Forty  ca'ms  a  feller  so, 
Leastways  it  seems  so  to  me. 
Hope  at  fifty  I  can  be 
That  much  milder  and  more  kind, 
More  to  mercy's  ways  inclined, 
That  much  gladder  just  to  live, 
That  much  readier  to  forgive, 
Fifty — may  be  them'll  bring 
Understandin' — that's  the  thing! 


Unafraid 


I've  got  to  go  on 
Till  the  last  dream  is  done, 
Till  the  last  song  is  gone, 
Or  the  last  fight  is  won; 
Till  there  dies  the  last  spark 
Of  the  fire  in  the  dusk, 
'Till  the  last  star  is  dark, 
Till  I've  gnawed  the  last  husk 
Of  defeat,  of  regret, 
Till  the  last  sigh  is  stilled, 
Till  I've  paid  the  last  debt, 
Till  the  last  drop  is  spilled 
From  the  goblet  of  Hope, 
Till  the  last  breath  is  gone; 
I  may  stumble  and  grope 
But  I've  got  to  go  on. 

I've  got  to  go  on 
Till  the  last  prayer  is  cried, 
Till  the  last  light  has  flown, 
And  the  last  dream  has  died; 
Till  the  last  breath  of  me 
Has  been  spent  in  the  fight, 
Till  the  last  day  to  be 
Has  been  shrouded  in  night. 
I  may  faint,  I  may  fall, 
I  may  tremble  and  fear, 


Unafraid 


But  the  clear  trumpet  call 
To  the  fight  let  me  hear! 
Give  me  courage  to  rise, 
Give  me  strength  to  revive 
Every  faint  hope  that  lies 
On  the  field  where  I  strive ; 
For  the  battle  seem  lost, 
And  the  last  chance  seem  flown, 
What  the  struggle  may  cost, 
Still  I've  got  to  go  on. 

I've  got  to  go  on; 
I  may  fall,  I  may  fail, 
I  may  die  ere  the  dawn 
Lets  me  look  on  the  Grail, 
Gall  may  brim  me  a  cup, 
Fate  may  spike  every  gun, 
But  I  won't  give  it  up, 
I  won't  quit,  I  won't  run, 
I  won't  cry  truce  or  yield, 
How  the  fates  on  me  frown, 
They  may  strip  off  my  shield 
But  I  won't  lay  it  down 
Till  the  last  veil  is  rent, 
Till  the  last  day's  at  dawn, 
And  the  last  breath  is  spent, 
For  I've  got  to  go  on. 


8 


The    Legacies 


Earth — you  have  given  me  much;  cool  turf  and  flowers, 

Great  trees;  wide  meadows,  where  in  vagrant  hours 

I  lay  in  shade  or  walked  in  clover  sweet; 

Aye,  you  have  given  me  place  to  rest  my  feet 

Secure  and  sure;  and  you  have  given  me  air 

To  breathe;  and  beauty;  of  your  store  my  share 

Has  been  a  generous  gift;  my  every  mood 

You've  nourished;  you  have  given  me  drink  and  food, 

Bird-song,  the  dawn  and  twilight;  odors  soft 

And  fragrant;  and  a  grassy  couch  where  oft 

I  lay  and  looked  up  at  the  stars  that  bade 

My  soul  arise,  serene  and  strong  and  glad. 

So  when  I  come  to  say  my  last  good-night, 
See  my  last  sunset  fade  upon  the  sight, 
I  shall  leave  you  the  dust  of  me  to  make 
A  flower  the  more  perhaps  for  beauty's  sake. 

Time,  you  have  borne  with  me  for  long  and  lent 

Me  hour  on  hour  where  tears  and  smiles  were  blent 

In  mellowed  sweetness;  you  have  given  me  days 

When  gladness  loved  me  all  the  many  ways 

She  knows  to  love;  and  you  have  comforted 

My  grief  and  helped  me  lay  my  hallowed  dead 

In  flowered  gardens  of  my  memory 

To  rest  till  I  shall  lie  where  they  may  be; 

What  sorrows  you  have  taken  from  me,  and  stings, 

While  keeping  for  me  ever  all  the  things 


The    Legacies 


I  loved  and  cherished;  how  you  gave  me  youth, 
And  manhood,  ruddy-red  with  life,  and  truth, 
Years  now  serene  and  ripe  like  fruit  made  sweet 
With  sun  and  showers  and  summer's  mellowing  heat! 

So  when  upon  the  hilltop  we  shall  stand 

To  say  good-by  with  each  an  outstretched  hand, 

I  leave  you  what  good  deeds  I  may  have  wrought — 

Tis  little,  but  'tis  all  the  wealth  I've  got. 

And  Friend,  my  Friend  of  all  those  good,  glad  years, 
Who  gave  me  smiles  for  smiles,  and  mingled  tears 
With  mine  when  sorrow  supped  with  me,  and  dread, 
Who  ate  of  my  dry  herbs  and  bitter  bread, 
Who  walked  with  me  upon  the  stony  ways, 
Bathed  my  bruised  feet,  nor  ever  found  our  days 
Too  short  for  sympathy,  nor  once  too  long 
For  bearing  half  my  burden;  you,  whose  song 
Rang  in  my  ears  when  days  of  mine  bereft 
Of  all  but  you,  as  though  a  pearl  were  left 
In  Life's  bad,  bitter  cup  the  while,  and  then 
Just  by  the  taste  of  you  grown  sweet  again — 

When  I  shall  say  good-by,  then  I  shall  weave 

A  garland  of  those  days  of  ours  and  leave 

You  this  for  Memory — and  you  shall  take 

This  greatest  treasure  of  mine  for  Love's  own  sake. 


10 


Forgot 


I  had  a  friend — a  very  precious  friend; 

I  thought  one  time,  long  gone,  to  tell  him  so. 
His  were  the  homely  qualities  that  blend 

In  human  sweetness;  I  am  sure  you  know, 
Perhaps  you  have,  a  friend  like  that,  whose  days 

Were  simple  and  serene;  he  was  so  blind 
To  little  faults;  his  were  the  flowered  ways 

Of  fellowship,  and  Oh,  he  was  so  kind ! 

I  thought  to  tell  him  all  of  that;  to  say 

What  oft  I  cherished  in  my  secret  heart; 
How  I  was  better  always  for  the  way 

He  tempered  me  with  mercy  and  fine  art 
Of  being  true  and  gentle,  and  yet  strong 

With  very  gentleness  of  courage,  too, 
Who  met  my  sharp  complainings  with  a  song — 

Yes,  he  was  kind  and  gentle  and  so  true. 

Yes,  he  was  such  a  friend  as  that,  upsprung 

From  days  and  nights  of  struggle,  on  a  plan 
Of  human  tenderness  and  Fame  had  sung 

Of  him  this,  and  this  only :    "Here's  a  man ! 
She  has  no  nobler  eulogy  to  say — 

A  man  by  every  deed  and  word  and  thought, 
Rich  with  rare  richness,  tempered  in  that  way 

That  gold  is  to  its  purest  fineness  wrought. 


11 


Forgot 


I  thought  to  tell  him — and  I  said,  again, 

And  once  again:     "But  surely  he  must  know!" 
(These  are  the  halting,  awkward  ways  of  men) 

And  I  held  silence  nor  I  told  him  so, 
These  things  I  say  to  you,  with  all  the  love 

I  had  for  him,  but  somehow  did  not  tell; 
My  heart  was  truly  Friendship's  treasure-trove, 

But  it  was  hidden  far  too  deep — and  well! 

Once  I  took  roses — red  ones,  in  my  hand, 

And  laid  them  by  him — laid  them  by  him  near; 
Laid  them  there  at  the  very  borderland 

Of  life — or  death — who  knows  what  may  be  here? 
I  laid  the  roses  there,  uncomforted, 

The  while  my  tears  fell,  waste  and  burning  hot, 
Then  knelt  in  the  dim  silences  and  said : 

"Here  are  the  roses — those  I  had  forgot!" 


12 


On    the    Square 


To  be  just  as  I  am 
In  my  world,  every  day, 
Without  pretense  or  sham, 
To  mean  just  what  I  say, 
To  be  square  in  my  talk, 
To  look  true  with  my  eye; 
To  go  straight  in  my  walk 
And  to  aim  middling  high. 

To  be  real — that's  the  thing, 
To  be  real  and  be  true ; 
Not  to  squirm  at  the  ring 
Of  the  metal  in  you; 
Not  an  echo  or  shade 
Of  somebody. to  be, 
But  to  know  that  I'm  made 
Of  the  substance  of  Me. 

To  live  up  to  the  bills, 
Nothing  less,  nothing  more, 
Without  tinsel  or  frills, 
With  my  best  foot  before; 
To  cash  in  all  my  chips 
Any  hour  of  the  day, 
With  a  smile  on  my  lips, 
Glad  they  asked  me  to  play. 


13 


On    the    Square 


To  sit  down  and  rejoice 
At  my  grate,  in  my  way, 
Not  afraid  of  the  Voice 
That  inquires  of  my  day; 
Just  to  know  that  I  played 
In  the  game  and  was  fair, 
Didn't  trick,  didn't  trade, 
Won  or  lost  on  the  square. 

Just  to  know  that  the  core 
In  the  middle  of  me 
Is  no  festering  sore 
I  should  shudder  to  see; 
To  be  garbed  with  no  cloak 
That's  all  pretense  or  sham; 
Just  to  dare  go  dead  broke 
But  be  just  as  I  am! 


14 


Loving  —  That's    All 


A  good  many  years  for  a  wee  bit  of  living, 

A  mighty  few  rich  and  a  whole  lot  of  poor. 
A  good  many  tears,  lots  of  need  for  forgiving, 

And  hard  knocks  enough  to  go  'round,  you  be  sure. 
There's  plenty  of  struggling  and  pushing  and  shoving, 

And  hard  words  along  with  the  pull  and  the  haul, 
And,  Lord,  how  this  old  world  of  ours  needs  just  loving, 

Just  loving  and  loving  and  loving — that's  all. 

There's  a  whole  lot  of  stiff  upper  lips  and  of  chaffing 

To  cover  up  sore  hearts;  I  know — I've  been  there; 
There's  a  good  deal  of  sorrow  and  not  too  much  laugh 
ing, 

And  many  a  fellow  who's  not  had  his  share. 
There's  plenty  of  stones  in  the  road  where  you  travel 

To  stub  your  big  toe  for  a  trip  and  a  fall, 
There's  many  a  tangled-up  skein  to  unravel, 

Before  you  learn  loving — just  loving,  that's  all. 

There's  one  fellow  climbing,  another  one  slipping, 

Some  places  are  easy  and  some  mighty  hard; 
There's  boosting,  that's  true,  but  a  whole  lot  of  tripping, 

The  road  through  this  life,  it's  not  all  boulevard. 
Some  wrinkles  from  laughing,  a  whole  lot  from  crying, 

And  scars,  too,  in  plenty,  from  scramble  and  fall, 
And  many  a  fellow  who's  tired  out  trying, 

Who  needs  only  loving,  just  loving,  that's  all. 


15 


Loving  —  That's    All 


Not  too  many  saints,  and  a  whole  lot  of  sinners 

Like  you  are  and  I  am,  but  way  down  inside 
There's  good  in  us  all,  if  we  can't  all  be  winners, 

And  losing's  no  crime,  if  a  fellow  has  tried. 
A  cheer  for  the  man  in  the  race  who  is  leading, 

But  the  fellow  who  fights  with  his  back  to  the  wall, 
A  cheer  for  him  too,  and  the  thing  he  is  needing : 

Just  loving  and  loving  and  loving — that's  all. 

There's  plenty  of  knowledge  but  not  too  much  learning, 

The  kind  that  you  get  from  hard  knocks  and  from  care, 
The  kind  that  knows  sorrow  and  struggle  and  yearning 

And  just  wants  to  love  folks  and  love  and  to  spare; 
The  kind  that  knows  God's  honest  truth  when  he  reads  it, 

That  hears  clear  above  all  the  struggle  the  call : 
The  world  needs  your  loving  and  needs  it  and  needs  it — 

Just  loving — and  loving — and  loving — that's  all! 


16 


What   Might    Have    Been 


Perhaps  if  you'd  told  him  the  things  you  now  say, 

If  you'd  put  out  your  hand  when  he  stumbled  that  day; 

Perhaps  if  you'd  seen  him  with  vision  as  clear 

As  you  do  when  he's  lying  so  silently  here; 

Perhaps  if  you'd  let  him  hear  one  kindly  word 

Of  the  many  you  spoke  that  he  knew  not  or  heard, 

Perhaps  if  your  sympathy  had  been  as  wide 

As  it  is,  now  he's  dead — well,  he  might  not  have  died. 

Perhaps  if  you'd  sent  him  the  roses  you  sent 

Ere  you  heard  that  the  breath  of  his  life  had  been  spent; 

Perhaps  if  you'd  looked  for  the  good  that  you  say 

Lay  so  rich  in  his  soul,  and  had  told  him  that  day; 

Perhaps  if  you'd  cheered  him,  and  helped  him  along 

With  a  word  and  a  smile  and  the  snatch  of  a  song, 

Perhaps  if  you'd  honored  him  thus  ere  he  slept, 

His  days  had  been  glad — and  he  might  not  have  wept. 

That  day  when  he  hungered  for  kindness  and  cheer, 
Did  he  know  he  would  find  it  when  lying  dead  here? 
That  time  when  he  struggled  and  suffered  and  wept, 
Did  he  know  you  would  come  and  be  kind  when  he  slept? 
The  loaf  that  you  give — did  he  know  'twas  the  sum 
Of  the  crumbs  you  denied,  and  that  friendship  would 

come 

To  the  edge  of  the  grave  and  strow  flower  and  word 
When  he  lay  here  so  still — when  he  cared  not  or  heard? 


17 


The    Grief 


It's  not  that  you  failed  me — 'twas  better  I  made 
The  struggle  alone,  though  my  weapons  were  laid 
In  dust  there  beside  me  and  comrades  were  flown, 
Twas  well  I  should  make  that  last  struggle  alone. 
It's  not  that  you  fled  when  the  danger  was  near, 
It's  not  that  the  soul  of  you  crumpled  with  fear; 
'Tis  not  mine  to  shame  you  or  judge  you  amiss, 
The  hurt  that  you  did  was  a  deeper  than  this. 

It's  not  that  I  called  you,  in  weakness  and  need ; 
It's  not  that  they  wounded  and  left  me  to  bleed. 
For  I  sought  the  struggle  and  I  chose  the  field, 
And  I  knew  the  foe  and  his  stout  sword  and  shield ; 
His  blows  were  not  light  ones,  nor  little  the  pain 
I  suffered  but  he  shall  not  strike  me  again; 
For  now  he  lies  broken  and  slain  in  his  pride, 
The  scars  I  may  hear  are  as  nothing  beside. 

It's  not  that  I  sorrowed,  for  sorrow  makes  pure 
The  soul  that  drinks  deep  and  bides  long  to  endure; 
The  cup  that  was  bitter  was  drained  to  the  lees 
And  may  brim  with  nectar  if  Heaven  so  please; 
Nay — I  am  not  angry,  nor  once  would  complain 
If  I  must  pass  through  the  dark  valley  again 
To  find  me  the  sunlight  and  song  at  the  end, 
Nor  would  I  once  fail  thee  in  trial,  my  Friend. 


18 


The    Grief 


It's  not  the  seared  furrow  of  tears  that  I  shed, 

For  tears  are  to  being  as  leaven  to  bread; 

And  should  I  regret  them  who  shed  them  and  knew 

The  glory  of  cleansing  my  soul  in  this  dew? 

Nor  once  I  reproach  thee,  for  mine  was  the  way, 

Via  dolorosa,  and  thine  yea  or  nay ; 

And  so  I  absolve  thee  from  blame — who  am  I 

To  judge  thee  or  scorn  thee  or  ask  thee  once  why? 

But  this  is  my  grief,  and  more  bitter  than  stain, 

And  deeper  than  scar  and  more  cruel  than  pain, 

That  once  I  had  builded  a  temple  of  trust 

Now  shattered  and  crumbled  and  laid  in  the  dust. 

And  what  shall  restore  me  the  temple  I  had 

Of  firm  faith  in  friendship,  whose  towers  rose  glad, 

But  long  now  in  ruin  and  ashes  have  lain — 

And  the  dream  dead  that  reared  them,  to  live  not  again? 


19 


The    Potter    and    the    Clay 


He  is  strong,  for  he  was  broken 

On  the  torture  wheel  of  pain; 
He  is  silent,  who  has  spoken 

Hasty  judgments,  aye,  and  vain; 
He  is  rich,  since  he  knew  losses, 

True,  by  pledges  once  unkept, 
He  stands  straight,  for  he  bore  crosses 

And  is  glad,  for  that  he  wept. 

He  knows  beauty,  through  his  blindness, 

He  is  humble,  who  knew  pride; 
Tender  for  his  soul's  unkindness, 

And  the  Christ  he  once  denied ; 
He  is  pure  for  muck  and  wallow 

Where  he  lay  and  was  unclean, 
And  sincere  for  every  hollow 

Sham  and  pretense  that  was  mean. 

He  knows  love,  for  that  his  spirit 

Was  unlovely  and  was  mean; 
For  that  fire  that  swept  to  sear  it 

Is  that  calm  soul  and  serene; 
He  is  whole  for  waves  that  battered, 

Beat  and  buffeted  and  cast 
Him  upon  the  shore,  a  shattered, 

Broken,  bleeding  thing  at  last. 


20 


The    Potter    and    the    Clay 


He  is  free  for  that  once  prison 

And  the  wings  that  beat  on  bars ; 
For  that  Hell  whence  he  is  risen 

Is  the  fellowship  with  stars ; 
And  that  bowed  head  in  its  meekness 

Was  defiant  of  the  laws — 
He  knows  courage  for  the  weakness 

And  the  cowardice  that  was. 

How  but  crushed  and  bruised  and  broken 

Can  the  potter  mold  his  clay? 
How  but  through  a  grief  unspoken 

Could  come  Love  to  light  the  way? 
By  this  dust  of  me  Thou  grindest, 

By  these  tears  of  me  and  rue, 
With  this  potter's  clay  Thou  findest 

Thou  shalt  build  my  temple  new. 


21 


Father    William    to    Date 


"You  are  kind,  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said, 

"You  are  kind  and  your  smile  is  aglow; 
And  is  it  from  what  you  have  heard  or  read, 

And  how  did  you  come  to  be  so?" 
"All  the  days  of  my  life,"  Father  William  replied, 

"There  were  sorrows  and  doubts  and  fears, 
And  often  aloud  in  my  grief  I  cried, 

So  I  learned  to  be  kind — through  tears." 

"You  are  glad,  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said, 

"You  are  glad  and  your  laughter  rings; 
When  others  are  gloomy  you  smile  instead, 

And  the  soul  of  you  sings  and  sings." 
"All  the  days  of  my  life,"  Father  William  replied, 

"I  have  striven  the  truth  to  gain, 
I  lost  it  in  self  and  greed  and  pride, 

And  I  learned  to  be  glad — through  pain!" 

"You  are  calm,  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said, 

"You  have  peace  and  you  go  your  way, 
And  jostle  no  man  and  you  earn  your  bread 

With  the  toil  that  you  do  each  day." 
"I  have  wanted  for  peace,"  Father  William  replied, 

All  the  days  of  my  busy  life; 
Haste  and  harshness  and  blows  I  tried, 

And  I  learned  what  is  peace — through  strife ! " 


22 


Father    William    to    Date 


"You  give,  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said, 

"You  give  with  a  generous  hand, 
From  your  little  store,  not  a  stone,  but  bread, 

And  somehow  you  understand." 
"I  have  hungered  myself,"  Father  William  replied, 

"And  I  found  not  a  crumb  in  greed, 
And  the  soul  of  me  might  have  shriveled  and  died, 

So  I  learned  how  to  give — through  need." 

"You  are  slow,  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said, 

"You  are  slow  to  judge  and  condemn, 
The  broken  and  sad  and  uncomforted, 

You  have  mercy  for  all  of  them." 
"I  have  sinned  myself,"  Father  William  replied, 

"And  Mercy  besought  to  win 
A  pardon  for  me — and  my  tears  were  dried — 

And  I  learned  not  to  judge — through  sin." 


23 


Brothers 


This  is  a  verse  of  a  man  who  sinned, 

As  many  a  man  has  done; 
Of  a  man  who  sped  the  tale  like  the  wind, 

As  many  a  man  has  done. 
And  a  pharisee  with  an  uprolled  eye, 
Who  saw  the  man  and  who  let  him  lie, 
And  muttered  a  prayer:     "Lord,  'twas  not  I!" 

As  many  a  man  has  done. 

This  is  a  verse  of  a  man  who  wept, 

As  many  a  man  has  done, 
Who  felt  his  soul  with  red  flames  swept, 

As  many  a  man  has  done. 
Who  wept  for  the  scar  and  the  stain  and  blot 
On  the  soul  of  him,  and  the  crimson  spot, 
And  who  felt  the  brand  that  was  white  and  hot, 

As  many  a  man  has  done. 

This  is  a  verse  of  a  man  who  jeered, 

As  many  a  man  has  done, 
Of  a  man  who  taunted  and  one  who  feared, 

As  many  a  man  has  done. 
And  the  sinner  fell  and  they  let  him  lie, 
For  he  was  a  sinner,  to  live  or  die 
Unfit,  and  the  three  of  them  passed  him  by, 

As  many  a  man  has  done. 


24 


Brothers 


And  one  there  was  who  had  sinned  and  wept, 

Even  as  the  sinner  had  done ; 
Whose  soul  with  a  flaming  fire  once  swept, 

As  many  a  soul  has  done. 
A  man  who  had  fallen  in  mud  and  mire, 
Whose  soul  had  been  scarred  with  a  hell  of  fire, 
But  through  his  sorrow  had  risen  higher, 

As  many  a  man  has  done. 

And  he  stopped  where  the  sinner  stood  apart, 

As  many  a  man  has  done, 
And  clasped  his  hand  and  he  touched  his  heart, 

As  many  a  man  has  done. 
With  hope  and  courage  and  sympathy, 
Tender  and  kind  as  a  brother  might  be, 
And  he  hated  the  mouthing  pharisee, 

As  many  a  man  has  done. 

And  he  linked  his  arm  the  sinner's  through, 

As  many  a  man  has  done, 
And  he  walked  with  him,  as  Christ  might  do, 

And  many  a  man  has  done. 

And  the  soul  of  the  man  was  cleansed  and  white 
That  was  red  before  and  the  hopeless  night 
Was  gone  and  he  walked  in  the  way  of  light, 

As  many  a  man  has  done. 


25 


Hospice 


He  left  the  door  ajar  that  evil  night 

When  rain  beat  fiercely  down,  and  shut  the  light 

Of  friendly  moon  and  stars  from  earth;  and  came 

The  bursts  of  jagged  lightning  like  the  flame 

Of  hissing  fire  across  the  sullen  sky. 

He  left  the  door  ajar  that  night,  and  I 

Would  fain  have  shut  it  tight,  but  he  said :  "Nay ! 

I  left  the  door  ajar — so  let  it  stay!" 

In  through  the  opened  door  the  rain  beat  then, 
And  he  flung  up  the  curtain  high  again, 
When  I  had  shut  it  close  to  keep  mine  eyes 
From  that  dread  flashing  in  the  fiery  skies. 
I  drew  the  curtain  close;  I  was  afraid, — 
I  would  have  shut  the  storm  all  out  and  stayed 
In  warmth  inside  the  house,  but  he  said:  "Nay! 
I  threw  the  curtain  up — so  let  it  stay!" 

And  then  I  trembled  when  the  rain  beat  down 

Upon  the  sill  and  at  the  angry  frown 

Of  skies  when  the  storm  lulled,  and  at  the  wind 

That  beat  its  bitter  gale  of  cold  and  dinned 

A  song  of  furies  on  my  coward  ear; 

I  would  have  shut  the  storm  all  out,  through  fear 

And  selfishness.    "What  is  a  house,"  I  cried, 

"But  refuge  from  the  storm  that  beats  outside?" 


26 


Hospice 


"Why  leave  ye  doors  stand  open  to  the  storm? 

Why  bid  ye  winds  in  when  we  might  be  warm? 

Why  lift  ye  curtains  high  when  lightnings  fly 

With  fury  over  all  the  blazing  sky 

To  make  my  soul  afraid?"    So  then  I  spake, 

Impatient  anyone  should  will  to  make 

His  house  storm's  hospice,  nor  shut  out  the  din, 

But  bid  the  rain  and  fiery  lightnings  in. 

So  then  he  said :    "And  are  there  none  outside 
Who  have  a  need  of  some  door  opened  wide? 
And  walk  there  none  in  darkness  and  the  night 
Who  may  have  cheer  from  the  assuring  light 
That  streams  where  I  have  left  the  curtain  high? 
Nay,  shut  thee  not  the  door!     Shall  we  but  cry 
With  selfish  fears  and  shall  we  two  be  warm, 
Nor  care  if  there  be  strugglers  in  the  storm? 
Fling  wide  thy  heart's  door  open,  in  the  din 
Of  wind  and  storm  and  bid  the  wanderers  in!" 


27 


Lost 


A  seed  held  prisoned  in  its  walls  a  flower 

Fair  over  all,  but  fell  upon  a  stone: 
So  I  had  in  my  heart  one  idle  hour 

A  dream  that  bade  me  live  it  as  my  own. 
Once  was  a  word  that  trembled  on  my  lips, 

To  comfort  hearts  with  stress  of  sorrow  worn — 
How  timid  inspiration  frightened  slips 

From  us — and  dies  unborn. 

I  know  a  song  full  musical  and  sweet 

That  came  and  on  the  brink  of  being  stood, 
Expecting  me  with  pipe  and  reed  to  greet 

The  soul  of  it,  so  glorious  and  good. 
But  I  was  indolent,  dull,  loath  to  sing; 

Till,  after  while,  I  bade  it  enter, — then 
I  heard  its  timid  feet  go  pattering 

Nor  ever  came  again. 

Somewhere  I  know  the  undone  deeds  must  be, 

The  unborn  thoughts  and  all  the  unsung  songs, 
Not  bitter,  angry — only  sad  that  we 

Have  worked  them  such  irreparable  wrongs. 
As  in  the  seed  that  lies  upon  the  stone 

The  flower,  unblossomed,  hopeless,  must  be  sad, 
And  yearn  to  know  what  never  can  be  known — 

What  life  it  might  have  had. 


28 


The    Poor 


Come,  boil  the  pot  with  coppers  cast, 

Or  silver,  that  the  poor  be  fed; 
The  world  is  crying,  first  to  last 

For  aid  to  the  uncomforted. 
All  things  shall  change,  the  prophet  saith, 

But  of  one  thing  we  may  be  sure, 
How  much  of  vain  pomp  flourisheth, 

We  shall  have,  Ah,  so  many  poor. 

And  up  and  down  the  street  they  cry, 

Who  would  bring  succor  where  is  want 
"Come,  dance,  and  merry-make  and  buy, 

The  hungry  wait,  thin,  lean  and  gaunt! 
The  lanes  of  poverty  are  long, 

And  winter  cold  is  keen  and  sure. 
With  lute  and  tripping  dance  and  song 

We  shall  get  money  for  the  poor." 

Yes,  we  shall  dance  with  tripping  feet, 

In  flowered  halls,  where  Beauty  sings, 
And  some  sell  bon-bons  we  may  eat, 

In  gay  bazaars,  fantastic  things. 
And  we  shall  laugh  and  eat  and  drink, 

The  snob,  aristocrat  and  boor, 
And  glow  with  fervor  as  we  think 

Of  money  gotten  for  the  poor. 


29 


The    Poor 


And  in  the  marts  are  cloth  of  gold 

And  furs  and  laces,  heap  on  heap, 
And  tapestries;  in  loft  and  hold 

And  vault  the  gold  lies  ankle  deep; 
And  in  the  bins  are  corn  and  wheat, 

With  kine  on  hill  and  plain  and  moor, 
So  vast  the  riches  at  our  feet, 

And,  God,  there  are  so  many  poor! 

God  help  us  all!    It  seems  so  strange! 

This  wealth  of  sun  and  sky  and  air! 
The  pastured  acres  rich  that  range 

A  thousand  miles  from  here  to  there. 
These  golden  fields  with  birds  and  bees, 

These  riches  all  so  vast  and  sure, 
These  bursting  bins  and  teeming  seas, 

And  yet,  Dear  God,  so  many  poor ! 


30 


No    Man's    Land 


Out  there  in  No  Man's  Land, 

Where  the  star-shells  flare  and  wither 
On  the  blood  and  the  mud  and  sand — 

Oh,  Searchers,  come  hither,  hither! 
Carefully  now,  for  the  star-shells  are  flashing; 
Down  in  a  hole,  while  the  great  guns  smashing 
The  sodden  earth!     Now,  stealthily  flying, 
Come  where  this  bundle  of  rags  is  lying, 
Once  a  soldier,  with  blood  all  wet, 
Gently  now,  for  it's  living  yet! 

Out  there  in  No  Man's  Land, 

Where  death  is  in  every  furrow, 
Stretchers  with  heroes  manned, 

And  down  in  the  crimson  burrow, 
To  lift  him  up,  who  is  feebly  groaning, 
To  bear  him  away  and  the  night  wind  moaning; 
Stealthily  now,  for  the  shells  fall  thickly, 
Then  up  and  away  and  carry  him  quickly 
Back  through  the  lines,  with  his  blood  all  wet, — 
Hurry  along,  and  we'll  save  him  yet! 
Green  now  is  No  Man's  Land, 

Green  with  the  grain  and  the  clover, 
Healed  with  the  touch  of  His  hand, 

And  the  scream  of  the  shells  is  over. 
But  the  ones  they  smashed,  now  shall  they  go  whither? 
Oh,  Searchers,  with  mercy  come  hither,  hither! 


31 


No    Man's    Land 


For  there  is  need  of  the  weak  and  broken, — 
Come,  bring  a  litter  of  love,  the  token 
Of  help  and  hope,  as  the  Master  planned, 
For  these  lying  broken  in  No  Man's  Land. 

Peace — hath  it  No  Man's  Land 

Where  the  broken  and  sick  are  lying? 
Nor  the  mercy  of  men  at  hand 
To  comfort  and  still  the  crying 
Of  men  and  women  and  children  falling 
Broken  in  the  fight  and  the  Master  calling: 
"The  needy  lie  here,  and  shall  they  go  whither? 
Ye  bearers  of  litters,  come,  hither,  hither! 
Come  with  the  mercy  the  Father  planned, 
Oh,  who  will  come  with  Me  to  No  Man's  Land?" 


32 


Knowledge 


I  do  not  know  if  planets  meet, 

Or  how  deep  is  the  sea; — 
I  know  my  neighbor's  across  the  street, 

And  he  has  need  of  me. 

I  do  not  know  if  cold  and  storm 
Sweep  Mars  by  sea  and  land, — 

I  know  my  neighbor's  heart  is  warm, 
I'll  go  and  clasp  his  hand. 

Of  that  spot  on  the  sun  that  speaks 

Of  storms  I  cannot  say — 
I  know  those  spots  on  that  man's  cheeks 

Are  tears  to  wipe  away. 

I  do  not  know  how  far  the  sun, 
How  deep  is  space  or  wide, — 

I  know  that  man  near  me  is  one 
I  might  help  if  I  tried. 

I  do  not  know  if  spirits  come 
In  vagrant  mood  and  while, — 

I  know  that  Heaven  is  the  sum 
Of  help  and  cheer  and  smile. 

I  know  the  day  is  glad  with  cheer, 

I  know  the  sky  is  blue, 
And  Heaven  might  be  very  near 

If  I  willed  it — and  you! 


33 


Brothers    of    Men 


You  are  Brothers  of  Men!     Let  me  say  it  again 
That  you  may  not  forget :    You  are  Brothers  of  Men ! 
Yours  to  comfort  the  weak;    yours    to    walk    with    the 

strong; 

Yours  to  bring  the  wise  counsel  and  lift  the  clear  song; 
Yours  the  spirit  to  smile,  what  the  task  to  be  done, 
Yours  the  courage  to  fight  till  the  battle  is  won; 
But,  more  than  all  else,  I  would  tell  you  again 
That  you  may  not  forget:    You  are  Brothers  of  Men! 

Yours  the  quick  word  restrained;  yours  the  strength  of 

a  Man; 

Yours  the  glory  of  giving;  the  wisdom  to  plan; 
The  strong  will  to  purpose;  the  courage  to  do; 
The  firm  soul  abiding  the  bitter  day  through; 
As  clean  as  a  woman;  unspoiled  as  a  child; 
As  strong  as  a  Man,  and  with  mercy  as  mild 
As  the  great  heart  of  Pity!  Oh,  hear  it  again, 
That  you  may  not  forget:     You  are  Brothers  of  Men! 

Aye,  Brothers  of  Men!    To  be  steadfast,  sincere, 
To  be  kind,  to  be  gentle;  with  hope  and  with  cheer 
To  make  the  way  brighter;  to  clasp  hands  with  men 
In  friendship  and  kindness  and  walk  with  them  then; 
And  walk  not  before  men,  nor  follow,  nor  chide, 
Nor  flatter,  nor  envy,  but  walk  side  by  side 
With  love  such  as  He  had!    Oh,  hear  it  again, 
What  glory  is  yours,  who  are  Brothers  of  Men! 


34 


A    Little    Song 


This  little  task,  I'll  do  it  now, 

And  it  forever  shall  be  done; 
This  little  fight  I'll  win  somehow, 

And  it  shall  ever  thence  be  won; 
I'll  say  with  grace  this  yea  or  nay, 

And  cast  the  die  forever  true, 
By  little  steps  to  reach  the  way 

Of  gladness  when  the  day  is  through. 

This  little  fret,  this  needless  fear 

I  shall  cast  off  with  faith  serene; 
This  little  doubt  I  shall  make  clear, 

And  know  this  duty  is  not  mean, 
Not  trifling,  not  to  thrust  aside 

Or  turn  like  some  unwritten  page, 
It  is  for  me  to  do  with  pride 

And  my  best  effort  to  engage. 

This  little  hurt  I  shall  not  mind. 

This  little  hate  I  shall  not  will 
To  sup  with  rne  and  I  shall  grind 

No  meal  for  anger  at  my  mill, 
From  little  pride  that  struts  the  earth 

I  pray  my  spirit  may  be  free, 
To  let  the  humbler  pride  of  worth 

Come  there  and  be  the  guest  of  me. 


35 


A    Little    Song 


No  little  gain  that  yet  is  loss, 

But  loss  that  may  be  sometime  gain; 
No  little  riches  that  are  dross 

When  all  of  living  is  made  plain; 
No  giant's  power  for  mighty  deeds, 

No  genius  for  the  hero's  task, 
But  strength  enough  for  little  needs 

Is  all  the  blessing  that  I  ask. 

No  little  spites,  no  little  greeds, 

No  little  cant  of  Thee  and  Me— 
Enough  for  my  so  simple  needs 

And  much  for  all  the  needs  there  be; 
No  blazing  meteor  overhead, 

No  flaming  comet  in  the  skies, 
But  velvet  pansies  in  a  bed, 

And  love  that  shines  from  smiling  eyes. 


36 


My    Neighbor   and    I 


If  I  weigh  up  the  worth  of  my  labor 

With  the  scales  of  exactness  I  hold 
When  I'm  judging  the  deeds  of  my  neighbor, 

Whose  frailties  I'm  given  to  scold; 
I  might  not  take  half  as  much  pleasure 

In  thinking  how  fine  I  may  be, 
When  I've  taken  my  neighbor's  just  measure, 

If  I  use  the  same  measure  for  me. 

If  I  do  what  I  have  to  do  squarely 

As  I  know  he  should  do,  and  I  say; 
If  I  play  the  game  he  plays  and  fairly, 

As  I  know  in  my  heart  he  should  play; 
I  shall  not  ask  what  kind  of  man  is  he, 

Or  judge  him  a  great  man  or  small, 
For  my  own  self  will  keep  me  so  busy 

I'll  have  no  time  to  judge  him  at  all. 

If  when  he  does  well  I  shall  praise  him 

With  the  measure  of  praise  I  give  me, 
If  with  the  same  gladness  I  raise  him 

As  high  as  I  know  I  should  be; 
If  when  he  does  ill,  all  my  railings 

Be  with  voice  that  is  still  and  is  small 
As  when  I  scold  me  for  my  failings, — 

Well,  then  I  won't  scold  him  at  all. 


37 


My    Neighbor    and    I 


If  I  make  him  the  many  excuses 

I  make  for  myself  when  I'm  wrong, 
If  in  judging  I  practice  the  uses 

Of  mercy  and  cheer  him  along 
With  the  smiles  that  make  for  my  well-being, 

If  my  pats  on  my  back  I  make  his, 
The  first  thing  I  know  I'll  be  seeing 

What  a  mighty  fine  fellow  he  is. 

If  I'll  just  judge  myself  and  my  labor 

With  the  justice  I  judge  when  it's  he, 
And  then  judge  the  needs  of  my  neighbor 

With  the  mercy  I  use  to  judge  me, 
I'll  not  ask  what  kind  of  man  is  he, — 

If  the  mercy  I  seek  shall  be  his, 
It  will  keep  me,  I'm  sure,  mighty  busy 

To  be — well,  be  good  as  he  is! 


38 


Just    Between    Us    Two 


You're  a  likeable  fellow,  you  were  when  a  boy, 

And  your  mother  was  fond  of  you,  too; 
But  you've  warped  some  since  then;  in  the  struggle  for 
joy 

You've  missed  half  the  pleasure  of  you. 
I  know  you  are  worried,  for  worries  are  rife, 

In  the  fight  to  be  on  the  top  shelf, 
But  I'm  sure  you  would  get  more  of  joy  out  of  life 

If  you'd  get  on  good  terms  with  yourself. 

I  know  you  are  anxious  to  be  at  the  top, 

When  the  battle  of  living  is  through; 
You're  rolling  a  ball  up  a  hill  and  can't  stop, 

For  fear  it  will  roll  over  you. 
You're  working  a  full  shift  and  worrying  one, 

And  you'd  like  to  sleep  one  but  you  don't, 
You  think  you'll  be  happy  when  work  is  all  done, 

But  I'm  reasonably  sure  that  you  won't. 

I  know  you  want  money  and  power  and  place, 

That's  the  way  all  you  fellows  begin, 
You've  set  up  a  standard — you're  keeping  the  pace 

That  you  have  to  keep  up  if  you  win. 
And  perhaps  you  will  win  all  you  wish  in  the  end, 

Be  just  rich  when  the  battle  is  through, 
But  tell  me  now,  frankly,  as  friend  to  a  friend: 

Is  it  worth  what  it's  doing  to  you? 


39 


Just    Between    Us    Two 


If  it's  losing  the  dreams  that  you  had  when  a  boy, 

If  it's  stealing  the  smiles  from  your  face, 
If  it's  robbing  the  day  of  its  measure  of  joy, 

If  it's  rusting  your  soul  in  the  race; 
If  it's  putting  off  happiness  day  after  day, 

If  your  tired  soul  keeps  hearing;  "Not  yet!" 
Don't  you  think  it  is  foolish  to  trade  life  away 

For  the  things  you  won't  want  when  you  get? 

You're  a  sensible  mortal:  suppose  when  it  ends, 

You  find  all  your  dreams  were  dead  wrong? 
Suppose  you  have  traded  off  wife,  kids  and  friends,- 

Yes,  traded  them  off  for  a  song. 
It  is  splendid  to  work  and  it's  fine  to  achieve, 

And  it's  good  to  be  on  the  top  shelf, 
But  right  down  to  brass  tacks,  now,  do  you  believe 

You  can  win  at  the  cost  of  yourself? 


40 


Just    Being    Kind 


Just  being  kind — Oh,  friend  of  mine, 
It  makes  the  blessed  sun  to  shine, 

With  newer,  warmer  light,  and  brings. 

A  rosy  glow  on  common  things. 
Just  being  kind — some  weary  while 
Of  day  to  brighten  with  a  smile, 

And  we  shall  richer  gladness  find, 

Just  being  kind. 

Just  being  kind — somehow,  somewhere, 
This  day  and  every  day  to  share 

With  whom  shall  need,  a  word,  a  smile 

Of  cheer  and  gladness  that  may  while 
Some  fret  or  care  away  and  make 
The  day  seem  brighter  for  its  sake ; 

To  make  glad  some  sad  heart  that  pined, 

Just  being  kind. 

Just  being  kind — who  does  not  need 
The  blessed  thought  or  word  or  deed 

That  breathes  on  the  spent  fire,  and,  lo, 

Makes  every  dying  ember  glow. 
Just  being  kind — Oh,  do  not  we 
Each  cherish  some  glad  memory 

That  some  one  in  our  hearts  enshrined, 

Just  being  kind. 


41 


Just    Being    Kind 


Just  being  kind — how  may  we  bring 
Like  the  first  wild  flowers  of  the  Spring, 

The  garland  of  a  gladness  rare 

With  just  a  friendly  smile  soiriewhere. 
Just  being  kind — how  may  be  stirred 
The  heart  to  joy  with  just  a  word, 

And  memory  with  fresh  roses  twined 

Just  being  kind. 

Just  being  kind — now  may  we  give 
The  best  we  have  to  life,  and  live 

In  spendthrift  waste  of  word  and  smile 

And  cheer  and  gladness  all  the  while. 
Just  being  kind — to  go  our  ways 
As  pilgrims  through  the  round  of  days, 

And  every  day's  chief  gladness  find 

Just  being  kind. 


42 


The    Little    Things 


It  wasn't  much — a  friendly  voice, 

That  hailed  me  with  good  cheer; 
A  very  small  and  simple  thing, 

Not  worth  inscribing  here; 
And  yet  somehow  I  was  in  need, 

My  skies  grown  dark  and  gray, 
That  friendly  greeting  comforted 

And  made  me  glad  all  day. 

It  wasn't  much —  a  sunny  smile 

That  someone  offered  me; 
It  came  just  at  a  weary  while, 

As  weary  whiles  must  be; 
Who  gave  it  never  dreamed,  I'm  sure, 

That  smiles  may  be  like  dew 
Upon  the  flowers  and  weary  hearts 

Make  glad  the  whole  day  through. 

It  wasn't  much — a  simple  deed 

That  some  one  thought  to  do; 
A  very  simple  thing  and  small ; 

Perhaps  Someone  was  you; 
A  little  gem  of  thoughtfulness — 

And  yet  a  jewel  rare, 
For  all  the  dreary  day  along 

It  flashed  and  glitttered  there. 


43 


The    Little    Things 


It  wasn't  much — a  kindly  word, 

A  firm  and  friendly  hand 
Outstretched  that  meant  a  lot  of  things 

I'm  sure  you  understand; 
Somehow  it  cheered  and  lifted  me 

As  I  went  on  my  way, 
And  left  new  courage  in  my  heart 

To  gladden  all  the  day. 

Such  little  things,  the  friendly  voice, 

The  kindly  deed  and  smile, 
The  outstretched  hand  and  sunny  word 

That  came  that  dreary  while; 
Somebody  merely  passed  and  smiled 

And  hailed  me  with  good  cheer, 
And  all  the  day  it  made  me  glad, 

Just  as  I'm  telling  here. 


44 


The    End    of   the    Road 


Dig,  dig,  dig! 

All  through  the  livelong  day; 

Bent  over  a  desk  with  a  weary  brain 
And  hair  that  is  getting  gray. 
Dig,  dig,  dig! 
For  the  dollars  that  piled  up  fast, 

And  filled  his  dreams  when  he  slept  at  night 
Worn  out  by  the  chase  at  last. 

Dig,  dig,  dig! 

From  morning  till  late  at  night; 

With  a  wrinkled  brow  and  a  heart  so  hard 
That  it  felt  as  a  dollar  might. 
Dig,  dig,  dig! 
A  deal  that  was  big  or  small, 

Another  hunch  and  a  hasty  lunch 
With  dollars  to  crown  it  all. 

Dig,  dig,  dig, 

At  sixty  miles  an  hour, 

From  eight  to  noon  and  from  one  to  six, 
Wrinkled  and  gray  and  sour; 
Dig,  dig,  dig, 
Daughter  and  son  and  wife, 

But  he  had  no  time  for  profitless  things 
So  he  put  them  out  of  his  life. 


45 


The    End    of    the    Road 


Dig,  dig,  dig, 

Wallow  and  wade  and  roll, 

Through  a  mass  of  dollars  mountain  high 
Then  on  to  a  newer  goal; 
Dig,  dig,  dig, 
Heap  and  gather  and  get, 

For  sixty  is  only  middle  age, 
There's  time  for  a  million  yet. 

Dig,  dig,  dig, 

Liver  and  spleen  and  gall, 

Warped  and  twisted  and  dead  and  dried, 
And  stomach — none  at  all; 
Dig,  dig,  dig, 
Gather  and  get  and  store, 

Heap  and  pile  and  measure  and  count, 
More  and  more  and  more. 

Dig,  dig,  dig, 

Gravel  and  dirt  and  stones; 

The  sexton  heaps  up  another  mound 
And  makes  him  a  bed  for  bones. 
Dig,  dig,  dig, 
Gather  and  get  and  keep. 

And  the  earth  is  ten  thousand  miles  across 
But  only  six  feet  deep. 


46 


Let's    Play   a    Little    While 


Come   on — let's   lay  the  burden   down — the   weight   of 

frets  and  cares, 

Let's  slack  the  pace  a  little  in  the  race  of  real  affairs, 
Let's  give  the  troubled  soul  a  rest  from  all  these  cares  of 

ours, 
And  find  new  joy  in  living  out   among   the    birds    and 

flowers. 
Life's  such  a  fleeting  breath  at  best,  and  night  will  be  so 

long, 

And  hearts  will  be  so  better  for  a  cheery  smile  and  song, 
Let's  smooth  the  wrinkled  brow  of  Care  and  learn  again 

to  smile, 
Let's  lay  the  heavy  burden  down  and  play  a  little  while. 

Come  on — let's  quit  the  race  a  while  and  idle  by  the  way, 
Let's  get  some  pleasure  out  of  life  while  still  it  shall  be 

day; 
Let's  put  by  work  and  worry  once,  nor  ever  dream  that 

Care 
Shall  know  the  place  we've  wandered  to  and  come  to  find 

us  there ; 

Let's  be  like  boys  on  Saturday,  with  all  the  lessons  done 
And  only  joy  for  company,  be  battles  lost  or  won 
While  we  be  gone;  let's  quit  the  road  and  wander  off  a 

mile 
Where  we  may  search  for  violets — let's    play    a    little 

while. 


47 


Let's    Play   a    Little    While 


Come  on — 'twill  keep  till  we  come  back,  this  work  we 
have  to  do ! 

Let's  lie  a  while  upon  the  grass  while  still  the  sky  is  blue; 

Let's  breathe  the  air  of  freedom  once,  forget  the  world 
and  all, 

Beside  the  brook,  beneath  the  trees,  and  hear  the  song 
birds  call. 

Let's  find  the  gladdest  way  we  know,  and  wander  side 
by  side 

Where  bees  and  buds  and  blossoms  are,  and  squirrels 
dart  and  hide; 

Let's  sail  upon  the  sea  of  dreams  to  some  enchanted  isle, 

With  only  joy  for  company — let's  play  a  little  while. 

Come  on — the  day  is,  Oh,  so  fair  with  light  and  life  and 

all! 

Let's  give  our  tired  souls  a  rest  and  strip  from  us  the  pall 
Of  ceaseless  toil  and  care  and  fret — let's  wander  far  away 
From  street  and  town  and  all  they  mean,  and  idle  all 

the  day. 
Let's  find  the  way  to  happiness,  the  path  the  schoolboy 

finds, 

And  follow  on  and  on  and  on  for  all  the  way  it  winds; 
Let's  for  the  once  forget  to  frown  and  learn  again  to 

smile, 
And  Life  will  be  so  sweeter  when  we've  played  a  little 

while. 


48 


A    Brother    of    Mine 


He's  a  brother  of  mine,  or  at  least  he  should  he, 
That's  the  way  I  interpret  the  thing,  don't  you  see? 
Though  he  may  be  somebody  I  don't  even  know, 
Though  he  does  not  quite  travel  the  ways  I  may  go, 
Yet  I  can't  really  say  that  I  am  not  concerned 
If  he  wins  or  he  fails,  for  somehow  I  have  learned 
It  will  cheer  him  a  little,  if  I  give  the  sign 
Of  a  smile  and  he  feels  he's  a  brother  of  mine. 

If  I  know  he's  in  trouble  I  can't  stand  aside 
As  a  stranger  would  do,  and  I  know  he  has  pride 
That  will  keep  him  from  telling  his  troubles  to  me, 
So  I  like  to  get  close  as  a  brother  would  be. 
If  he  were  my  own  brother  I'd  not  turn  away 
And  leave  him  alone,  but  I'd  walk  up  and  lay 
My  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  his  eyes  might  shine 
With  hope  if  I  made  him  a  brother  of  mine. 

I  wouldn't  hold  back  if  I  saw  him  astray 

On  a  road  that  I  felt  would  bring  ruin  some  day; 

I  would  not  declare  with  my  lips  set  and  grim 

It  was  none  of  my  business  what  happened  to  him. 

For  it's  much  of  my  business  to  help  when  I  can 

With  a  smile  or  a  word  or  a  hope  or  a  plan; 

And  somehow  I  feel  in  the  greater  Design 

Of  life  and  the  world  he's  a  brother  of  mine. 


49 


A    Brother    of    Mine 


I  know  he's  as  human  and  needy  as  I, 

No  more  and  no  less,  and  I  won't  pass  him  by 

Without  stretching  a  hand  out  and  letting  him  know 

I  want  to  be  friendly  if  he'll  have  it  so. 

For  if  life  were  harsh  with  me,  harsh  and  unkind, 

The  day  gray  and  long  and  the  way  hard  to  find, 

I'd  like  him  to  come  with  a  smile  as  the  sign 

Of  his  friendship — yes,  come  as  a  brother  of  mine. 


50 


A    Pretty    Good    World 


It's  a  pretty  good  world,  as  a  world's  apt  to  go; 
At  least,  it's  the  best  world  that  most  of  us  know. 
If  it's  hot  in  the  sun  when  the  sky's  blue  and  fair, 
There's  twilight  and  evening  and  cool,  fragrant  air 
In  the  night  and  the  dark;  if  there's  hard  work  to  do, 
There's  plenty  of  play  and  a  chance  to  rest,  too, 
And  if  there  are  tears  in  some  day's  weary  while, 
There's  a  lot  of  real  gladness  and  many  a  smile. 

There  are  thistles,  of  course,  in  the  meadow  I  see, 
But  look  at  the  flowers  they  have  strewn  there  for  me; 
Just  scattered  there  broadcast  and  bright  in  the  sun, 
And  I,  who  have  plucked,  never  planted  a  one. 
There's  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  or  for  me  or  for  you, 
But  the  black  of  the  cloud  only  brings  out  the  blue 
Of  the  summery  sky;  see  the  brook  that  is  pearled 
With  its  crystalline  drops!     It's  a  pretty  good  world! 

There  are  cowards,  that's  true,  but  so  few. when  you  read 
Of  the  brave  men  and  fine^and  the  courage  and  deed 
Of  the  heroes  who  battled  and  struggled^and  won 
In  the  fight  that  has  waged  since  the  world  was  begun. 
There's  greed,  too,  and  hatred,  but  over  above 
There's  a  wealth  of  fine  spirit  and  friendship  and  love, 
And  bright  eyes  and  smiling  and  warm  hearts  and  kind — 
It's  a  good  world,  as  good  as  you're  likely  to  find. 


51 


A    Pretty    Good    World 


There's  waste  and  there's  evil,  there's  crime  and  there's 

lust, 

But  where  is  the  woodpile  that  doesn't  have  dust, 
And  chips,  sticks  and  splinters?  And  there's  the  sound 

wood 

For  building  and  burning  that's  solid  and  good; 
There's  chaff  in  the  bushel,  but  most  of  it's  grain, 
There's  green  grass  and  flowers  and  fruit  in  the  rain; 
And  for  every  serpent  that  hisses  and  stings 
A  hundred  rare  song  birds  and  butterfly  wings. 

It's  a  pretty  good  world  from  beginning  to  end, 
There's  blue  sky  and  flower  and  hard  work  and  friend, 
And  gladness  and  singing  and  many  long  years 
And  a  lot  more  of  laughter  and  smile  than  of  tears. 
So  put  in  your  laughter  and  friendship  and  cheer, 
Don't  wait  till  tomorrow,  but  now  and  right  here! 
Somebody  may  need  just  that  smile  you've  unfurled 
To  make  it  and  keep  it  a  pretty  good  world! 


52 


Things    a    Man    May    Do 

To  make  the  way  a  little  plain  where  it  was  dark  before; 
To  smile  a  really  friendly  smile  out  through  the  open 

door; 

To  ease  the  load  a  little  bit  for  one  who  follows  me, 
To  light  a  candle  in  the  dark  so  wayfarers  may  see 
A  friendly  inn  close  by  the  road;  to  plant  a  tree  where 

men 
May  lie  and  rest  and  dream  and  sleep  and  go  their  ways 

again 
Refreshed  and  ready  for  the  task;  when  life's  all  done 

and  through, 
I  guess  these  are  the  things,  perhaps,  a  man  should  really 

do. 

To  lead  some  troubled  soul  to  smile  when  all  seems  lost 
and  gone; 

To  walk  with  some  one  who  is  lame  and  cheer  him  to 
go  on; 

To  make  the  world  a  bit  worth  while  for  some  one  who 
may  be 

In  need  of  comforting  perhaps  and  one  kind  word  from 
me; 

To  clear  the  briars  from  the  path  that  grew  there  yes 
terday  ; 

To  set  a  sign  post  here  and  there  that  some  may  find 
the  way; 


53 


Things    a    Man    May    Do 


To  trim  the  lamp  that  leads  men  on  to  shelter,  and  make 

new 
The  beacon  fires  of  hope — these  things  I  guess  a  man 

should  do. 

To  store  wide  waters  well  with  bread;  think  not  too 
much  of  pain; 

To  mark  the  snares  and  pitfalls  well  and  leave  the  high 
way  plain 

For  him  who  goes  this  way  again;  to  blaze  a  friendly 
tree 

Where  pathways  lead  through  tangled  woods  that  travel 
ers  may  see; 

To  follow  where  brave  men  have  led  and  make  the 
trail  so  he 

Who  comes  another  time  this  way  may  safely  follow  me ; 

To  scatter  seeds  along  the  way  where  all  those  flowers 
grew 

For  me  to  pick — these  things  I'm  sure  are  what  a  man 
should  do. 

So  let  me  make  the  way  of  men  a  little  happier  way, 
Where  some  one  may  pick  flowers  perhaps  that  I  have 
sown  today; 


54 


Things    a    Man    May    Do 


Where  some  worn  traveler  in  the  night  with  gratitude 

may  turn 

In  at  the  inn  where  shines  the  lamp  that  I  set  out  to  burn ; 
I'd  like  to  know  some  ship  in  stress  might  find  a  harbor 

fair 
And  safety  from  the  night  and  storm    by    watch    fires 

burning  there 
That  one  day  I  heaped  on  the  shore — and  when  my  days 

are  through 
I'd  like  to  feel  I'd  done  some  things  a  man  should  really 

do. 


55 


A    Very    Little    Song 


A  little  grief  came  down  the  way 
Of  life  upon  a  sunny  day, 
And  touched  a  gentle  heart  with  pain 
That  misted  all  the  day  like  rain. 

A  little  grief  came  down  the  way 
Of  life  upon  a  sunny  day. 

A  little  tear  came  after  grief 
All  sodden  like  an  Autumn  leaf 
In  sere  October's  mist,  and  lay 
Upon  a  cheek  that  sunny  day. 

A  little  tear  came  after  grief 
All  sodden  like  a  mist-wet  leaf. 

«\ 

A  little  gladness  came  along 
The  way  of  Sorrow  with  a  song 
And  with  its  dainty  fingers  set 
A  smile  upon  the  cheek  still  wet. 

A  little  gladness  came  along 
The  way  of  Sorrow  with  a  song. 

And  then  a  rainbow  came  that  way 
And  arched  across  the  dreary  day, 
For  through  the  tear  that  weary  while 
There  fell  the  sunshine  of  a  smile. 


56 


A   Very    Little    Song 


And  so  a  rainbow  came  that  way 
And  arched  across  the  dreary  day. 

A  little  grief  to  touch  with  pain, 
A  little  tear  that  falls  like  rain 
Upon  the  sunny  way  the  while, 
A  little  gladness  and  a  smile, 
And,  see,  behind  the  cloud  the  blue, 
With  rainbows  arching  over  too! 


57 


Just   Around    the    Corner 


Just  around  the  corner — just  a  step  or  two  from  here 
There's  a  well  of  water  that  is  cool  and  crystal  clear; 
There's  an  eye  that  twinkles  with  the  rarest  kind  of 

smile; 

Patience,  we  shall  reach  the  spot  in  just  a  little  while. 
Hot  the  day  and  dusty  and  the  way  is  rough  and  long, 
We  shall  find  a  place  to  rest  and  we  shall  hear  a  song, 
We  shall  greet  a  friend  or  two  and  they  shall  bid  us 

cheer — 
Just  around  the  corner — just  a  step  or  two  from  here. 

Just  around  the  corner  where  the  roses  are  that  fall 
Fresh  and  fair  and  fragrant  from  an  ancient  bush  and 

tall; 
Fall  like  smiles  from  friends  of  ours  who  greet  us  on 

our  way, 

Nod  at  us  as  we  pass  by  as  if  to  say  good  day; 
We  may  stop  an  hour  or  two  by  rose  and  bush  and  stem, 
Fair  they  are  as  friendly  smiles,  and  life  is  full  of  them. 
Drear  the  way  and  weary  now,  but  we  shall  see  them 

smile 
Just  around  the  corner  and  in  such  a  little  while. 

Just  around  the  corner — just  a  bit  beyond  the  view 
There's  a  dream  we've  cherished  and    a    dream    that's 
coming  true; 


58 


Just   Around    the    Corner 


There's  a  friend  we've  longed  for  and  whose  hand  we'll 

clasp  in  ours, 
Where  the  well  of  water  is  and  where  the  dreams  and 

flowers ; 

There's  a  bench  to  sit  upon  and  there's  a  song  to  sing, 
There's  a  tree  to  lie  beneath,  a  bird  upon  the  wing, 
There  is  joy  to  fill  the  heart  and  laughter  come  to  stay — 
Just  around  the  corner — just  a  step  or  two  away. 

Just  around  the  corner — let  us  be  upon  our  way, 

Sorrow  left  behind  us  at  the  gate  of  yesterday, 

Friends  of  ours  are  waiting  there,  with  cheer  and  smile 

and  song, 
And  Ah,  the  way  was  weary  once  and  Ah,  the  day  was 

long. 
Let  us  skirt  the  hedge  and  fence  and  climb  across  the 

stile, 
Bid  these  travelers  be  of  cheer  and  greet  them  with  a 

smile, 

Tell  them  of  the  joys  to  be  and  point  them  out  the  way — 
Just  around  the  corner  of  Tomorrow — or  Today. 


59 


The    Understanding 


Someday  beyond  the  narrow  skies  that  fall 

About  our  little  lives,  I  may  know  all 

The  crosses  you  have  borne,  and  I  may  know 

The  troubles  that  beset  you,  long  ago; 

The  struggles  you  have  won  or  lost;  the  strife, 

The  frets,  the  weary  worries  of  your  life; 

I'll  know  the  daily  debt  of  toil  you  paid, 

The  part  of  patient  sufferer  you  played 

In  this  half -tragedy  of  life,  and  I 

Who  looked  upon  you  with  unseeing  eye, 

And  in  my  hate  was  harsh  and  mean,  and  blamed 

You  or  for  this  or  that,  will  be  ashamed, 

Withdraw  the  bitter  words  I  said  of  you 

And  all  my  hasty  judgments  and  untrue, 

Crave  pardon  from  you,  offer  you  my  hand, 

And  say:     "Forgive  me!     Now  I  understand!" 

And  someday,  likewise,  you  may  learn  of  me 
The  secrets  of  the  life  that  used  to  be; 
The  burdens  I  have  had;  the  scars  I  bore 
And  hid  from  you;  the  struggles  o'er  and  o'er 
That  warped  me  from  myself;  the  times  I  tried 
And  tried  again  and  failed ;  the  nights  I  cried 
To  hoped-for  Heavens,  unknown,  unseen,  unlearned; 
The  lashes  Fate  laid  on  my  back  that  burned 


60 


The    Understanding 


Their  length  across  me  like  a  very  fire; 

And  you  may  see  the  ashes  of  desire 

That  like  the  rubbish  heaps  of  purpose,  lay 

In  gray  profusion  at  the  close  of  day ; 

And  you  will  stand,  abashed,  appalled,  ashamed 

To  think  you  judged  me  in  your  haste  and  blamed 

Me  or  for  this  or  that;  stretch  forth  your  hand 

And  say:   "Forgive  me!     Now  I  understand!" 


61 


To    Meet   the    Day 


To  meet  my  tasks  with  spirit, 

And  to  do 
The  oft  done  thing  with  strength 

And  courage  new; 
To  go  forth  to  the  day, 

With  faith  and  trust, 
And  labor  if  I  may, 

Not  since  I  must. 

To  meet  my  disappointments 

With  stout  heart; 
To  seek  no  paths  of  ease 

That  lie  apart 
From  those  my  fellows  travel, 

Nor  to  be 
Absolved  from  any  task 

That  strengthens  me. 

To  meet  my  joys  well  knowing 

They  are  lent 
To  share  with  whom  I  may; 

To  be  content 
With  less  than  a  full  measure, 

And  to  be 
The  friend  of  him  who  may 

Have  need  of  me. 


62 


To    Meet   the    Day 


To  meet  my  fellows  fairly, 

And  to  say 
My  greetings  gracefully, 

And  yea  or  nay 
With  single  tongue  and  gently; 

To  be  blind 
To  little  human  faults, 

And  to  be  kind. 

To  meet  myself  right  fairly; 

To  be  glad 
For  life  and  chance;  to  prize 

What  joys  I've  had; 
Fight  manfully,  play  gladly, 

With  no  spent 
And  sullen  spirit  mine, 

And  be  content. 


63 


Virtue 


"If  a  feller  gets  up  to  the  top  of  the  heap," 

Says  Hiram  Green  to  me; 
"If  he  works  while  I'm  in  bed  asleep 

Like  an  ant  or  a  busy  bee; 
If  he  takes  the  chance  that  I  threw  away, 

A  chance  that  I  thought  was  slim, 
And  makes  it  win — I  ain't  goin'  to  say 

It  was  all  fool  luck  for  him. 

"If  a  feller  plows  and  plants  his  grain 

When  I'm  whittlin'  a  stick  for  mine, 
Or  fishin'  or  thinkin'  it's  goin'  to  rain 

Or  waitin'  for  more  sunshine; 
If  he  plugs  along  with  the  vim  I  lacked 

And  profits  by  good  boss  sense, 
I  ain't  goin'  to  play  the  baby  act 

And  blame  it  on  providence. 

"If  a  feller  does  what  he  thinks  is  best 

With  his  cattle  and  grain  and  rents, 
I  ain't  goin'  to  say  he's  featherin'  his  nest 

At  somebody  else's  expense; 
For  a  feller  can  plow  and  a  feller  can  sweat,- 

I'm  a  purty  free  will,  I  be, 
If  I  got  the  zip  to  go  out  and  get 

What  there  is  in  the  world  for  me. 


64 


Virtue 


"I  ain't  goin'  to  say  that  he  won't  play  square 

In  what  he  may  think  or  do ; 
I'm  goin'  to  think  he  will  play  the  game  fair 

As  mebbe  I  would,  or  you. 
I  ain't  a-writin'  no  judgment  book, — 

If  we  make  him  a  town  trustee 
I  ain't  goin'  to  think  he'll  be  a  crook, 

Any  more  'n  you  would — or  me. 

"I  can't  help  thinkin'  that  mebbe  the  worst 

Is  the  feller  than  runs  and  tells 
The  shady  story — who's  always  first 

Suspectin'  somebody  else. 
When  Virtue  was  passed  around  that  Day, 

I  wasn't  there  to  see, 
But  the  other  feller,  I'm  bound  to  say, 

Got  just  as  much  as  me." 


65 


Peep    o '    Dawn 


Mornin',  Sunshine!     Howdy  do! 

Mighty  glad  t'  welcome  you! 
Heard  th'  field  larks  tellin'  me 
You  was  here  an'  come  t'  see! 

Heard  a  hundred  voices  say: 

"Sunshine's  come  t'  stay  all  day!" 
Mighty  glad  t'  welcome  you, 
Mornin',  Sunshine!    Howdy  do! 

Mornin',  Sunshine!    Heard  a  lark 
Pipe  yer  comin'  through  th'  dark; 
Minstrel  swaller  up  th'  spout 
Told  me  you  was  comin'  out, 
Airly  rooster  in  th'  coop 
Crowed  hisself  nigh  inter  croup; 
Mighty  glad  t'  welcome  you, 
Mornin',  Sunshine!     Howdy  do! 

Mornin',  Sunshine!     Glad  ye're  hack, 
Seen  you  through  my  curtain  crack; 
Watched  y'  shinin'  on  my  bed 
Sayin'  "Git  up,  Sleepyhead!" 
Felt  yer  warm  hand  on  my  cheek, 
Almos'  thought  I  heard  y'  speak: 
"Day  is  happy,  skies  are  blue!" 
Mornin',  Sunshine!     Howdy  do! 


66 


Peep    o'    Dawn 


Mornin',  Sunshine!     Howdy  do! 
I  jist  take  new  life  fr'm  you. 

Somethin'  in  yer  comin'  that 

Make  my  heart  go  pittypat. 
Wisht  whenever  I  come  near 
Folks,  like  you  do,  I  could  hear: 

"Mornin',  Sunshine!     Howdy  do! 

Mighty  glad  t'  welcome  you!" 


67 


Singing   Along 


He  went  singin'  along 

On  the  street  where  I  be, 
Just  a  line  of  a  song 

Sort  o'  homelike  to  me; 
Must  'a'  had  a  sweet  soul, 

Fer  things  often  went  wrong, 
But  th'  days,  on  th'  whole, 

He  went  singin'  along. 

Feller'd  grieved,  too,  I  know, 

'Cause  I  knowed  him  right  well, 
An'  th'  lines  he  could  show 

Had  a  story  to  tell 
As  them  lines  always  do, 

But  he  knowed  that  a  song 
Helped  him  fight  th'  thing  through, 

An'  went  singin'  along. 

An'  as  gruff  as  I  be 

(An'  I'm  gruff  when  I  choose), 
He  would  smile  up  at  me 

Like  a  cure  for  th'  blues; 
Seemed  to  reckon  some  way 

That  th'  heart  needs  a  song, 
So  he  cheered  up  my  day 

An'  went  singin'  along. 


68 


Singing   Along 


An'  it's  odd,  I  declare, 

When  I  look  back  an'  see, 
How  a  feller  as  rare 

As  I  knowed  him  to  be 
Growed  a  soul  good  to  see 

Out  o'  things  goin'  wrong, 
While  a  feller  like  me 

Ain't  a-singin'  along. 

Durn  my  shriveled  old  soul, 

But  he  makes  me  ashamed 
When  I'm  takin'  th'  toll 

Of  his  spirit — I'm  blamed 
If  I  ever  half  tried; 

Soul,  you're  goin'  all  wrong! 
Giddap,  durn  your  hide, 

An'  go  singin'  along! 


69 


Keep    Sweet 


Keep  sweet — that's  all  I've  got  to  say; 
You  won't  go  fur  wrong  thataway! 
Keep  sweet,  an'  be  of  heart  an'  cheer, 
An'  if  th'  way  ain't  always  clear, 
Strike  up  a  snatch  of  old  time  song 
To  keep  us  sweet  as  we  go  'long; 
For  though  we've  many  a  bitter  day, 
Let's  try  to  keep  sweet  anyway. 

Keep  sweet — an'  when  th'  struggle's  through, 

Th'  Lord  just  can't  help  lovin'  you; 

Keep  sweet — it  does  us  good  t'  strike 

A  soul  that's  sweet  an'  wholesome  like! 

It  sort  o'  radiates  good  cheer 

An'  lights  th'  path  an'  helps  t'  clear 

Th'  mists  that  hang  above  th'  way, 

Let's  try  to  keep  sweet  every  day. 

Keep  sweet — don't  let  th'  sad  days  blur 
Th'  brightness  of  th'  days  that  were, 
Or  dim  with  useless  tears  an'  free 
Th'  brightness  of  th'  days  to  be. 
Keep  sweet — with  steadfast  faith  an'  long 
With  strength  to  suffer  an'  be  strong, 
With  hope  to  light  us  on  th'  way — 
Let's  try  to  keep  sweet  every  day. 


70 


Keep    Sweet 


Keep  sweet — with  that  calm  faith  that  came 
When  we  would  ask  it  in  His  name, 
At  Mother's  knee,  an'  were  content 
From  simple  trust  with  what  He  sent. 
Be  our  hearts  th'  abidin'  place 
Of  what's  th'  noblest,  gentlest  grace 
Th'  angels  know;  though  dark  th'  day, 
Let's  try  to  keep  sweet  anyway. 


71 


An    Epitaph 


Kind  o'  jollied  along 

In  the  friendliest  way, 
With  a  smile  and  a  song 

And  a  kind  word  to  say; 
Didn't  worry  and  fret 

If  things  sometimes  went  wrong, 
Kept  his  spirit  sweet  yet, 

And  just  jollied  along. 

Sort  o'  jollied  along 

With  good  cheer  all  the  while, 
Had  a  grip  pretty  strong 

And  the  friendliest  smile; 
Heard  him  whistlin'  a  tune 

And  a-hummin'  a  song 
Mornin',  evenin'  or  noon, 

Kind  o'  jollied  along. 

"Don't  you  worry,"  he'd  say, 

"For  the  sun's  sure  to  shine, 
There's  a  flower  by  the  way 

And  the  day's  pretty  fine; 
Used  to  worry  like  you, 

Thought  the  world  was  all  wrong, 
But  I  always  came  through 

And  I  jollied  along." 


72 


An    Epitaph 


Well,  I  missed  him  one  day, 

And  a  fellow  came  by 
In  the  lonesomest  way 

And  a-rubbin'  his  eye, 
Said  he'd  been  at  his  side, 

Heard  him  hummin'  a  song,- 
Didn't  seem  that  he  died, 

He  just  jollied  along. 


73 


When    a    Feller    Makes    Good 


When  a  feller  makes  good — when  he  wins  in  the  fight, 

And  especially  when  it's  been  grim, 
I  may  be  kind  o'  sorry  it  ain't  me,  all  right, 

But  I'm  glad,  yes  I'm  glad  it  was  him. 
I  ain't  goin'  to  be  sour  that  the  prize  wasn't  mine, 

I  ain't  goin'  to  be  ugly  or  glum, 
I  ain't  goin'  to  grumble  or  holler  or  whine, 

'Cause  mebbe  my  time  is  to  come. 

When  a  feller  makes  good — when  he  reaches  the  place 

Where  he  slacks  up  a  bit  and  can  rest, 
I  ain't  goin'  to  grudge  it,  or  wear  a  long  face, 

I'm  goin'  to  keep  doin'  my  best; 
For  what  he  can  do  I  can  do,  like  as  not, 

An'  I  ain't  wastin'  time  bein'  blue, 
When  a  feller  makes  good,  well,  it  just  shows  me  what 

Most  any  live  feller  can  do. 

When  a  feller  makes  good  I  ain't  goin'  to  complain, 

I'm  just  goin'  to  be  glad  that  he  won, 
For  what  has  been  done,  I  can  do  it  again, 

Whatever's  been  done  can  be  done; 
I'm  sorry  perhaps  that  I  didn't  just  find 

The  thing  that  from  my  eyes  was  hid, 
But  as  long  as  I  didn't,  I  ain't  goin'  to  mind, 

I'm  durn  glad  that  somebody  did. 


74 


When    a    Feller    Makes    Good 


It  gives  me  a  thrill  when  somebody  makes  good, 

It  kind  o'  invites  me  to  cheer, 
I'd  like  to  have  done  it  perhaps,  if  I  could, 

But  I  ain't  goin'  to  grumble  or  sneer 
Jist  because  it  was  him — he  just  sets  me  the  pace, 

He  shows  me  what  someone  can  do, 
And  I'm  goin'  to  pitch  in  with  a  smile  on  my  face, 

And  mebbe  I'll  set  one  for  you. 

No,  I  ain't  goin'  to  whine  when  somebody  makes  good, 

I  ain't  goin'  to  be  jealous  or  hot; 
I'm  jist  goin'  to  cheer  him  and  then  I'll  saw  wood, 

And  I  can  make  good,  like  as  not. 
I'm  glad  when  somebody  makes  good — yes,  I  be, 

When  we  thought  all  his  chances  was  slim, 
And  it's  jist  human  nature  to  wish  it  was  me, 

But  I  ain't  a  bit  sorry  it's  him! 


75 


The    Newsboy's    Friend 


He's  the  kind  of  a  fellow  you  like  mighty  well, 

And  he  smiles  in  the  friendliest  way; 
He's  forty  or  fifty  I  guess, — I  can't  tell, 

For  sure,  but  his  hair's  turning  gray. 
He  buys  him  a  paper  or  two  every  time 

That  he  passes  the  corner  by  me, 
And  he  never  takes  change  from  a  nickel  or  dime, 

He's  a  regular  fellow,  you  see. 

He's  a  regular  fellow  with  smiles  in  his  eye, 

And  he's  never  too  busy  to  say 
Hello  to  a  boy,  and  he  stops  going  by 

And  says:    "How  is  business  today?" 
He  looks  at  a  fellow  like  he  understood 

When  it's  sleety  and  cold  and  he  says: 
"A  cup  of  hot  coffee  would  taste  pretty  good, 

And  a  couple  of  doughnuts,  I  guess." 

Then  he  puts  down  a  quarter  and  says:     "What's  the 

news?" 

And  I  hand  him  a  paper  and  grin, 
And  he  says:     "Keep  the  change,  Boy,  and  see  you  don't 

lose 
That  smile — it  will  help  you  to  win. 


76 


The    Newsboy's    Friend 


Who's  your  banker?"    he    says.      "It's    my    Mother," 
says  I, 

'Cause  she  is,  and  a  dandy  one,  too, 
Then  he  laughs  and  the  kindest  look  comes  in  his  eye 

And  he  says  to  me,  says  he:     "You'll  do." 

He's  a  regular  fellow  and  don't  have  to  try, 

The  kind  you  would  be  if  you  could; 
When  he  pats  your  head  and  looks  straight  in  your  eye 

It  just  makes  a  fellow  feel  good. 

You're  not  scared  any  more  and  you  don't  mind  the 
snow 

Or  the  sleet  or  the  nickle  you  spend, 
And  you  feel  as  if  you'd  have  some  safe  place  to  go 

If  you  needed  a  really  good  friend. 

And  some  day  he  says,  when  my  face  ain't  pure  white: 

"You've  got  some  skin  trouble,  I  see, 
But  good  soap  and  water  will  cure  it  all  right, 

I  had  skin  trouble,  too,  once,"  says  he. 
"Here's  a  nickle  for  soap — better  make  it  a  dime," 

He  says,  "Soap's  for  sale  every wheres; — 
Come  up  to  my  office  and  sit  down  sometime 

And  we'll  talk  of  the  world  of  affairs." 


77 


The    Newsboy's    Friend 


He's  the  funniest  fellow,  and  says  it  as  true 

As  can  be  and  he  don't  crack  a  smile, 
But  you  just  sort  of  feel  when  he's  talking  to  you 

He's  smiling  inside  all  the  while. 
He  seems  to  know  boys  and  their  feelings  and  ways, 

Just  seems  as  if  he  understood, 
And  all  of  the  things  that  he  does  and  he  says — 

Well,  they  just  make  a  fellow  feel  good. 


78 


Lend    a    Hand 


Yes,  there  is  many  a  load  to  lift, 

And  many  a  task  to  do; 
There's  many  a  way  and  many  a  rule 

Set  forth  for  me  and  you; 
But  what  the  task  there  is  to  do, 

And  how  the  work  be  planned, 
It's  best  to  smile,  a  cheery  smile, 

And  then — to  lend  a  hand. 

There's  many  a  heart  that's  aching  sore, 

And  many  a  misty  eye; 
There's  many  a  soul  that  needs  once  more 

Be  bidden  just  to  try; 
So  what  the  need  or  grief  may  be, 

I'll  try  to  understand, 
And  smile — just  smile  a  cheery  smile, 

And  try  to  lend  a  hand. 

There's  many  a  day  that's  raging  hot, 

And  many  a  way  that's  long, 
And  many  a  pilgrim  needs  a  lift, 

A  bit  of  cheer  and  song; 
So  I've  one  simple  rule  and  plain 

Not  hard  to  understand, 
It's  just  to  smile  a  cheery  smile, 

And  just  to  lend  a  hand. 


79 


Lend    A     Hand 


There's  many  a  grief  that's  hard  to  bear, 

There's  many  a  need  and  stress ; 
There's  many  a  trial  I  might  share 

And  make  the  burden  less; 
So  let  me  lift  the  load  a  while, 

Until  the  heights  be  spanned, 
Let  me  give  you  a  cheery  smile, 

And  let  me  lend  a  hand. 

Yes,  there  is  many  a  joy  to  bring, 

And  many  a  hope  renew, 
And  there  is  many  a  soul  to  cheer 

And  kindly  deed  to  do; 
There's  many  a  heart  to  be  made  glad, 

If  we  but  understand, 
Let's  smile — let's  smile  a  cheery  smile, 

And  then  let's  lend  a  hand. 


80 


A    Field    of    Clover 


It  was  just  a  field  of  clover  that  the  sunshine  flooded  over, 
With  an  orchard  close  upon  it,  and  a  cottage  standing 

near 
That  had  morning-glories  climbing;  and  a  meadow  lark 

was  chiming 

Forth  his  welcome  to  the  Springtime  in  a  carol  sweet 
ly  clear. 
It  was  just  some  clover  waving  with  its  red  and  white, 

behaving 
Like  the  children  at  a  frolic  when  the  sun  is  noonday 

high, 
But  it  brought  me  something  tender — to  my  memory  a 

splendor 

That  was  soft  and  sweet  and  gentle,  and  a  mist  upon 
my  eye. 

It  was  just  a  field  of  clover  that  the  bumblebees  flew  over 
With  a  drowsy  drone  and    buzzing;    and    the    cattle 

grazed  afar 
Where  the  reeds  and  willows  quiver  by    the    bubbling 

brook  or  river 

Just  beyond  the  snowy  orchard  where  the  apple  blos 
soms  are. 
It  was  just  a  picture,  fleeting  as  the  song    of    birds  in 

greeting, 

But  it  bore  a  thousand  fancies  that  came  back  to  me, 
as  rare 


81 


A    Field    of    Clover 


As  the  dreams  that  one  day  thrilled  me  and  the  happiness 

that  filled  me 

When  I  followed  through  the  clover  to  the  paths  that 
led — say  where! 

I  went  roaming  there,  and  finding  me  a  path  I  knew  went 

winding 
Through  the  wood  and  by  the  river,  when  the  day  was 

fine  and  fair, 
I  would  follow  it,  forgetting  all  the  world  hut  this,  and 

letting 
This  old  pathway  wind  and  wander  till  it  lost  itself 

somewhere 
In  the  tangled  wood,  and  lying  there  I  heard  the  breezes 

crying 
In  the  trees  that  were  so  high — so  high, — the  shade 

so  deep — so  deep! 
And  when  birds  and  bees  were  humming,  with  the  same 

boy  who  went  chumming 

Down  the  road    with    me    to    Nowhere,    talked    and 
dreamed  and — fell  asleep. 

It  was  just  a  field  of  clover,  but  somehow  it  bore  me  over 
Like  a  bridge  across  the  river  between  Sometime  then 

and  now, 
And  it  lent  me  all  the  seeming  for  the  moment  of  the 

dreaming 


82 


A    Field    of    Clover 


That  was  mine  and  yours  in  boyhood  but    has    gone 

from  us  somehow. 
And  I'm  sure  you  must  remember;  rosy  June  and  soft 

September, 
April  blossomed  pink  with  flowers  and  October  with 

its  brown; 
August  with  ripe  apples  blushing,  March's  waking  rivers 

rushing, 

And  December  with  its  Christmas  and  the  snowflakes 
coming  down. 

It  was  just  a  field  of  clover,  and  a  cottage  where,  up 

over, 
Trailed  the  climbing  morning-glories ;  and  a  girl  stood 

at  the  door 
Much  like  some  one — well,  no  matter, — but  I  glanced  a 

moment  at  her, 
Just  a  moment — and  I  brushed  my  eyes, — and  then  the 

dream  was  o'er. 
But  I've  always  loved  the  clover,  for  before  the  dream 

was  over 
I  have  seen  her  stand  there  smiling,  with  a  smile  I've 

longed  to  see 
All  these  many  years,  and  stooping  where  were  clover 

blossoms  drooping 

She  would  gather  up  an    armful    there    and    shower 
them  on  me. 


83 


A    Field    of    Clover 


So  I  passed  the  field  of  clover,  and  the  dream  it  brought 

was  over, 
And  the  morning-glory  cottage  lost  to  view  behind  a 

hill, 
But  there  stayed,  the  day  and  morrow,  like  the  bitter 

sweet  of  sorrow, 
Something  soft  and  sweet  and  gentle  that  my  heart  may 

cherish  still. 
May  has  come  and  June — September;  and  there  conies 

the  bleak  December, 
With  its  Christmas  and  its  candles  and  the  lights  upon 

the  tree, 
And  all  dead  may  be  the  clover,  but  the  dream  I  may 

dream  over, 
Till  the  Cottage  door  stands  open  and  a  girl  there 

smiles  at  me. 


84 


Hymn    of    Praise 


Father  of  mine,  who  mayst  Thou  be, 
What  glory  in  Thy  love  for  me; 
Thy  green  turf  for  my  carpet  laid, 
Thy  trees  outspread  for  rest  and  shade; 
Thy  music  in  the  flow  of  seas, 
Thy  summer  skies  for  canopies; 
Thy  flowers  that  glorify  my  day, 
Thy  birds  for  song,  to  cheer  my  way ; 
Thy  bees  to  sip  my  flowers  and  be 
My  exemplars  of  industry. 

Father  of  mine,  bid  me  be  glad 
For  every  song  the  wild  bird  had ! 
Teach  me  the  beauty  Thou  hast  set 
In  every  rose  and  violet. 
Help  me  by  patient  industry 
To  be  companion  with  the  bee, 
And  let  me  pass  each  day  an  hour 
In  gratitude  for  wayside  flower, 
The  skylark's  song,  the  drip  of  rain 
And  for  the  sickle  in  the  grain. 


85 


Song    of    Hope 


Bring  me  no  song  of  tears, 

Fling  me  no  sorrows, 
Wing  me  no  Yesteryears, 

Sing  me  To-morrows! 
Pipe  me  a  merry  lay, 

Tune  no  heart's  aching, 
Bid  me  look  up  and  say: 

"Hope!     Dawn  is  breaking!" 

Croon  me  no  lullabies, 

Moon  me  no  dreaming, 
Tune  me  the  spreading  skies 

Hopefully  gleaming. 
Lull  me  with  Sorrow's  voice 

Not  into  sleeping, 
Bid  me  awake,  rejoice, 

Joy  in  my  keeping. 

Not  ash  of  dead  desire, 

Not  flown  Septembers, 
Light  me  a  living  fire, 

Heap  me  no  embers. 
Bring  from  no  twilight  gray 

Cloaks  for  dead  sorrow, 
Sing  of  the  Dawn  and  Day, 

Hope  and  To-morrow! 


86 


Cherry   Blossom    Time 


Somehow  my  fancy  bids  me  write  a  story  in  a  rhyme, 
Of  bells  and  laughter  and  of  tears  in  cherry  blossom 

time, 
Almost  I  hear  the  laughter  ring    and    distant    bells    to 

chime. 

Nor  did  I  hear  those  bells  to  ring,  nor  did  the  laughter 

hear, 

But  when  she  told  me  of  it  all,  it  was  so  real  and  clear! 
She  told  me,  Oh,  so  long  ago,  and  yet  it  seems  so  near! 

And  she  was  just  a  girl,  she  said!     How  strange  it  was 

to  me, 
As  I  sat  there  and  listened  close,  sat  down  there  by  her 

knee, 
To  think  of  her  as  just  a  girl — this  mother-girl  of  me! 

And  then  a  bride,  and  so  the  bells,  the  laughter  and  the 

tears, 

And  always  all  those  after  days  that  music  in  her  ears 
Was  sweet  and  clear  and  never  died,  through  all  the  days 

and  years. 

It  was  in  cherry  blossom  time,  and  all  the  trees  were 

white, 
As  though  the  snows  had  drifted  them  with    flakes    all 

through  the  night, 


87 


Cherry    Blossom    Time 


And  as  the  blossoms  was  her  heart,  her  bride's   heart, 
pure  and  light. 

She  was  a  bride  in  blossom  time,  and  heard  the  church 

bells  chime. 

How  fair  it  is  to  be  a  bride  in  cherry  blossom  time! 
Nor  did  I  dream,  the  time  she  told,  of  making  it  a  rhyme. 

And  now  the  bells  hung  silent  and  the  marriage  feast 

was  done, 
And  she  went  forth  from  Home  that  day  to  build  another 

one, 
As  lads  and  lassies  all  have  gone  since  time  was  first 

begun. 

All  this  she  told  me  at  her  knee  who  sat.    She  stopped  to 

throw 
Them  kisses  long  as  she  could  see  that  time  she  turned 

to  go, 
All  this  the  day  she  was  a  bride  where  cherry  blossoms 

blow. 

And  one  last  kiss  her  mother  gave,  as  mothers  have  to  do 
When  brides  go  forth  to  make  a  home;  her  father's  last 

kiss,  too, 
Was  hers  that  day  so  long  ago  when  blossom  time  was 

new. 


88 


Cherry   Blossom    Time 


And  then  she  smiled  at  me  who  sat  there  listening  at  her 

knee, 
While  tear  drops  glistened  on   her    cheek    I    wondered 

much  to  see, 
For  it  was  cherry  blossom  time  that  time  she  told  it  me. 

And  then  she  wiped  the  tears  away  and  said:  "I  was  to 

see 
Them  all  at  cherry  blossom  time  again,  when  I  should 

be 
A  year  away  perhaps,  or  two,  or  it  might  grow  to  three!" 

"And  did  you  go  in  blossom  time  and  was    it   not    all 

fair?" 
She  stooped  and  kissed  me  as  I  spoke  and  smiled  and 

stroked  my  hair, 
And  said:     "How  many  times  the  trees  have  blosssomed 

for  them  there!" 

"But  it  was  far,  so  far  away!    And   babies   came — one, 

two, 
Three,  four  and  five;  and  there  was  always  much  for  us 

to  do, 
And  there  was  home  to  make  and  keep  for  little  tads  like 

you! 


89 


Cherry    Blossom    Time 


"But  at  some  cherry  blossom  time  I  shall    go    back,  I 

know," 
She  said,  "When  all  the  trees  are  thick  with  bloom  and 

white  like  snow, 
And  we  shall  hear  the  bells  again  as  they  rang  long  ago. 

"And  they  shall  kiss  me  once  again,  and  they  shall  kiss 

you,  too ; 
Yes,  we  shall  all  go  back  some  day  when  blossom  time 

is  new, 
And  we  shall,  all  of  us,  be  glad,  and  all  the  dreams  come 


And  one  sad  day  she  fell  asleep,  and  I  who  write  this 

rhyme, 
Kissed  her  with  streaming  eyes  and  she    heard    olden 

church  bells  chime, 
And  told  me  so,  and  I  knew  then  'twas  cherry  blossom 

time. 

And  often  I  can  see  her  now,  when  blossom  time  is  fair, 
With  tears  and  laughter  in  her  eyes  and  blossoms  in  her 

hair, 
Just  as  she  told  me,  at  her  knee  when  I  sat  listening  there. 


90 


Cherry    Blossom    Time 


Her  heart  was  sweet  as  blossoms  were;  her  soul  as  pure 

and  light! 
The  dream  of  her  may  God  keep  now  and  always,  blest 

and  bright 
As  she  would  have  my  soul  to  be — as  her  soul  was — pure 

white! 


91 


M a h m o u d    of    Ispahan 


The  great  Mahmoud  of  Ispahan, 
In  ancient  rays  a  mighty  man, 
By  tribesmen  called  the  Unafraid, 
Unsheathed  his  glittering  sword  and  laid 
It  by  his  couch;  his  limbs  were  cold, 
His  shriveled  skin  was  dry  and  old, 
His  years  four  score  and  ten  and  one, 
His  eyes  turned  to  the  setting  sun 
That  not  again  the  day  should  span 
For  great  Mahmoud  of  Ispahan. 

Afar  the  temples  were  whose  plan 

Was  of  Mahmoud  of  Ispahan, 

And  fell  the  sunset  on  the  land, 

All  red  like  blood  upon  the  sand, 

As  though  the  slain  did  bleed  again 

For  Mahmoud  and  his  mighty  men, 

Whose  swords  drank  blood  as  men  drink  wine 

Made  from  all  Persia's  choicest  vine, 

Blood  of  his  enemies  that  ran 

For  great  Mahmoud  of  Ispahan. 

And  now  in  Persia  was  no  man 
Great  as  Mahmoud  of  Ispahan, 
No  prince  or  tribesman  who  might  give 
Him  battle  in  that  land,  and  live. 
His  glittering  sword  that  by  him  lay 
Had  slain  its  hundreds  in  a  day, 


92 


Mahmoud    of    Ispahan 


Until  that  mighty  arm  arose 
Half-palsied  from  the  furious  blows, 
Nor  gold  nor  slave  nor  caravan 
Escaped  Mahmoud  of  Ispahan. 

He  called  aloud  for  Belkorzan, 

The  wisest  in  all  Ispahan, 

Scribe  to  Mahmoud,  and  hoary  seer 

To  whom  all  things  of  life  were  clear. 

"  'Tis  I,  Mahmoud,  wise  Belkorzan, 

'Tis  I,  Mahmoud,  of  Ispahan, 

My  sword  beside  me  and  my  breath 

Soon  to  keep  life's  sworn  pledge  with  Death; 

My  epitaph  'tis  you  shall  plan, 

Plan  for  Mahmoud  of  Ispahan." 

"My  tomb  is  hewn,  and  Belkorzan 
Shall  carve  the  truth  that  Ispahan 
May  know  the  all  that  may  be  said 
Of  Mahmoud,  when  he  shall  be  dead; 
Aye — you  shall  write  in  words  sublime 
That  mighty  men  through  all  of  time 
Shall  have  the  utmost  truth  to  scan 
Of  me,  Mahmoud,  of  Ispahan. 
Swear,  Belkorzan,  that  truth  to  say 
Of  Mahmoud,  mightiest  of  his  day!" 


93 


Mahmoud    of    Ispahan 


There  stands  the  tomb  and  Ispahan 
May  read  of  its  once  mightiest  man, 
In  letters  high  upraised  and  spanned 
By  centuries  of  sun  and  sand, 
Yet  clear  as  carved  by  Belkorzan 
The  wisest  in  all  Ispahan, 
Who  kept  the  oath  he  swore  to  write 
The  truth  in  words  of  living  light: 
"The  dust  enclosed  was  once  a  man, 
By  name,  Mahmoud,  of  Ispahan!" 


94 


A    Song    of    Every    Day 


Since  there  are  clean  lives  needed,  I  will  live  one, 
I  will  not  doubt  or  quit  or  fear  or  drift. 

For  who  may  need  a  glad  smile,  I  will  give  one, 
Myself,  in  helping  others,  I'll  uplift. 

Since  there  are  glad  souls  wanted,  I  will  be  one, 
I  will  not  frown  or  scold,  but  I  will  cheer 

Some  downcast  soul  when  I  may  chance  to  see  one,- 
I  will  do  this  Today,  and  now,  and  here! 

Since  some  may  be  unkind,  I  will  bring  kindness, 

To  what  I  say  or  do,  sojmehow,  someway. 
I  will  not  ever  close  my  eyes  in  blindness 

To  all  the  good  about  me  every  day. 
Since  some  are  weak,  then  I  will  be  the  stronger 

To  help  the  frail  who  grope  the  way  along, 
Since  some  are  sad,  then  must  I  smile  the  longer, 

And  never  lose  the  spirit  of  my  song. 

Since  glad  songs  are  so  needed,  I  will  sing  one, 

The  tasks  appointed  me  I'll  strive  to  do, 
Since  we  need  joyous  spirits  I  will  bring  one, 

And  keep  it  sunny,  steadfast,  strong  and  true. 
I  will  be  quick  to  help  who  is  in  trouble, 

I  will  have  love  and  cheer  and  sympathy, 
And,  all  the  good  I  do  will  straightway  double: 

'Twill  uplift  whom  I  help  and  uplift  me. 


95 


Song   of    Friendship 


Not  tomorrow,  Friend,  I  pray! 
Do  not  tarry — come  today ! 
Who  shall  say  if  I  shall  be 
Here  for  long  to  welcome  thee? 
Will  the  love  that  thou  mayst  bring 
Be  for  us  a  better  thing 
If  we  tarry  longer?     Nay! 
Not  tomorrow !    Come  today ! 

Why  tomorrow?     Tell  me  when 
This  today  shall  come  again. 
If  this  happiness  foregone 
Shall  return  another  dawn. 
On  tomorrow  canst  thou  bring 
Food  for  this  day's  hungering? 
Does  love  breathe  a  sweeter  lay 
On  tomorrow  than  today? 

Do  not  tarry,  Friend,  I  pray, 
Till  tomorrow!     Come  today! 
Come  with  eagerness  and  smile, 
Nor  delay  till  after  while. 
Who  shall  say  where  I  may  be 
On  tomorrow?     Come  to  me 
With  that  friendly  word  to  say, 
Not  tomorrow — come  today! 


96 


Song   of    Friendship 


Why  tomorrow?    Wilt  thou  be 
Any  dearer  then  to  me? 
Wilt  thou  see  with  clearer  eye 
In  the  little  time  gone  by? 
Little,  yet  so  long  'tis  far 
As  the  immeasurable  star, 
For  all  time  may  not  declare 
There  is  any  morrow  there! 

Dost  thou  love  me,  Friend,  and  let 
This  day  go,  nor  tell  me  yet, 
When  tomorrow  may  not  be, 
Nor  be  love  or  light  for  me? 
That  be  dust  in  one  brief  hour 
That  was  even  then  a  flower? 
Wilt  thou  bring  me  ashes?     Nay! 
Not  tomorrow — come  today! 

If  thou  lovest,  wouldst  thou  say 
Thou  wilt  love  me  yesterday? 
Nay!     Because  'tis  naught! — but  'tis 
No  more  naught  than  morrow  is! 
Thou  canst  love  me,  much  or  how 
Once  alone  and  that  is  now! 
Do  not  tarry,  Friend,  I  pray 
Not  tomorrow — come  today. 


97 


The    Place    of   Broken    Things 


I  have  a  little  attic  room 

Up  somewhere  in  my  mind, 
It's  shrouded  thickly  o'er  with  gloom, 

And  I  could  never  find 
A  single  thing  I've  put  in  there 

Far  from  the  light  of  day, 
That's  why  I  have  that  attic  where 

I  hide  those  things  away. 

I  put  in  there  the  broken  things, 

That  naught  of  skill  can  mend, 
Cracked  pots,  bent  pans,  old  hurts  and  strings,- 

All  useless  things  I  send 
Straightway  into  the  attic  roojm 

To  grieve  me  never  more, 
And  leave  them  shrouded  with  the  gloom 

All  back  of  that  closed  door. 

Old  dreams  that  died,  to  live  no  more, 

And  tarnished  friendships,  too, 
Whereon  one  time  I  set  much  store 

But  found  they  were  untrue. 
Keen  disappointments  and  old  days, 

That  would  bring  me  some  tears, 
If  they  were  open  to  my  gaze, 

And  some  sad,  bygone  years. 


98 


The    Place   of   Broken    Things 


And  cherished  hopes  that  once  I  had 

But  proved  like  bubbles  blown, 
With  a  short  life,  to  make  me  glad 

And  then  in  dust  were  flown. 
And  long  healed  scars,  regrets  and  tears, 

That  one  time  seemed  the  doom 
Of  all  I  longed  for  through  the  years, 

All  in  my  attic  room. 

I've  put  them  there,  a  goodly  store 

Of  sorrows,  crumpled  wings, 
Dead  dreams,  flown  hopes  and  many  more 

Outworn  and  broken  things. 
And  there  I've  laid  them  in  the  gloom 

To  moulder  and  decay, 
And  I  have  shut  that  attic  room 

And  turned  my  steps  away. 


99 


Unfit 


Life — rude  and  ragged  garment  of  my  soul, 
Ill-fitting,  spotted,  full  of  rents  and  tears; — 
Patterned  for  me  the  cloak  my  spirit  wears 
When  I  had  voice  nor  choice,  if  it  be  whole 
Or  patched  with  furious  passions  and  the  thread 
Of  evil  circumstance. 

Some  grandsire  dead 

An  hundred  years  mayhap  willed  me  the  rents 
Of  sloth  and  weakness  and  unbridled  sense; 
Yet  Honor  bids  me  now  forth  to  the  field 
To  wrest  the  victory  from  mail  and  shield 
And  sword; — me  in  my  wretched  nakedness! 
Nor  Honor's  sateless  greed  content  with  less. 

Let  me  strip  off  these  wretched  rags  and  cast 
Them  on  the  dust  and  rubbish  heap  of  years 
To  rot  with  all  their  stains  of  futile  tears, 
Choose  mine  own  knightly  armor  at  the  last, 
And  I  will  shame  thee  with  my  victory 
As  now,  my  Honor,  oft  thou  shamest  me! 


100 


The    Secret 


Little  woman  with  the  smile — 

Simple,  steadfast  and  serene; 
Knowing  envy,  hate  nor  guile, 

Mistress,  counselor  and  queen 
In  that  royal  family 

Of  strong  sons  and  daughters  fair, 
What  the  secret?     Tell  it  me,— 

I  would  tell  it  everywhere. 

I  have  sought  and  I  have  found, 

Studied,  pondered,  cast  away; 
Dreams  have  compassed  me  around, 

Wisdom  has  said  yea  or  nay; 
I  have  pondered  by  the  lore 

Of  the  sages  ages  through; 
What  the  secret?     Is  it  more 

Than  the  wise  men  know,  or  knew? 

Surely  not  at  Learning's  shrine 

You  have  gained  that  soul  so  fair, 
For  I  made  her  secret  mine 

But  your  glory  was  not  there. 
Burned  I  long  the  lamp  at  night, 

Many  a  waste  and  weary  while, 
Seeking,  searching  for  the  light 

That  illumines  your  each  smile. 


101 


The    Secret 


Learning  has  it  not,  I  say, 

Nor  ambition  has,  or  Pride, 
For  I  searched  them  night  and  day 

And  I  cast  them  all  aside. 
Power  you  have  not,  or  place, 

Wealth,  Fame,  Honor  or  Degree, 
Yet  the  glory  of  your  face! 

What  the  secret?    Tell  it  me. 

Yours  the  thinly  buttered  crust 

Of  near  need  and  toil  and  care, 
But  the  miser's  hoard  is  dust 

By  this  Secret  that  you  share. 
You,  whose  kingdom  is  the  hearth, 

With  the  nearby  chair  your  throne ! 
And  the  wise  men  seek  through  earth 

For  this  peace,  and  this  alone. 

Little  woman  with  the  smile, 

That  with  glory  lights  Love's  way, 
Will  you  walk  with  me  a  while 

In  the  darkness  of  my  day. 
I  would  let  the  sages  go 

Where  the  Ways  of  Wisdom  be, 
Read  your  book  of  Life  and  know 

What  the  Secret.— Tell  it  me! 


102 


Before   the   Winter    Came 


I  often  think  of  him  as  where 
The  flowers  are  and  laughing  there, 
As  when  by  wood  and  field  he  strayed 
To  pluck  bright  blossoms  that  he  laid 
Within  my  hands  and  cried  his  glee 
O'er  each  new  blossom  brought  to  me. 

I  think  of  him  as  when  in  Spring 
I  saw  him  somewhere  beckoning 
With  chubby  hand  upraised,  for  me 
To  come  and  see  a  yellow  bee 
Or  gorgeous  butterfly  or  bird 
Upon  some  twig  or  branch  that  stirred. 

And  in  the  twilight  to  my  chair, 
When  I'm  alone  and  dreaming  there, 
He  comes  and  whispers  low  to  me 
Of  all  that  was  and  was  to  be 
Before  the  Winter  came  and  he 
Went  with  the  blossom  and  the  bee. 

And  sometimes  I  am  sure  I  feel 

His  chubby  fingers  as  they  steal 

Their  way  to  mine  and  clasp  mine  tight 

And  close  as  clinging  ivy  might 

About  a  twig,  till  he  shall  keep 

The  tryst  of  youth  with  dreams  and  sleep. 


103 


Before   the   Winter   Came 


So  in  that  dim  and  quiet  hour 
He  brings  me  many  a  gathered  flower 
Until  my  hands  are  full  with  bloom, 
And  odors  fill  the  twilit  room 
With  memories  grown  sweeter  yet, 
As  dew  gleams  on  a  violet. 

So  let  me  sit  this  hour  and  fill 
My  soul  with  fancy  if  I  will, 
And  let  this  memory  abide 
Of  flowered  path  and  him  beside, 
For  in  this  hour  'twill  be  the  same 
As  then — before  the  Winter  came. 


104 


The    Masquerade 


The  night  is  merry  with  their  cries, 

With  clamor  and  with  din; 
The  dancers  masked  with  every  guise 

Are  whirling  out  and  in; 
The  Lords  and  Beggars,  Fools  and  Wise 

All  in  a  mob  displayed, 
Till  Midnight  strikes — drops  each  disguise — 

'Tis  all  a  masquerade. 

The  Fool  was  not  a  Fool,  but  wise, 

As  we  may  plainly  see; 
The  Beggar's  rags  were  but  the  guise 

Of  his  sham  poverty; 
The  Sage's  garb  but  cloaked  the  Fool, 

Whose  witless  soul  has  strayed 
To  mount  for  us  the  dunce's  stool — 

'Twas  all  a  masquerade. 

That  knight  who  clanked  the  armor  in, 

A  coward  looks,  somehow, 
He  who  danced  there  as  Harlequin 

Seems  not  so  merry  now; 
She  who  was  sprightly,  gay  and  fair 

When  glad  the  music  played, 
Is  wrinkled  and  with  thin  gray  hair — 

Yes — 'twas  a  masquerade. 


105 


The    Masquerade 


And  now  the  dancers  are  all  dumb, 

The  music  dies  away; 
The  night  is  gone,  the  dawn  has  come, 

The  world  of  every  day; 
But  still  by  street  and  lane  and  town 

The  game  of  life  is  played, 
Each  with  his  mask  of  smile  or  frown — 

'Tis  Life — the  masquerade! 

The  Broken-heart  in  smiling  guise 

That  would  conceal  its  pain; 
The  Fool  who  masquerades  as  Wise, 

That  Soul  with  its  red  stain 
Of  sham  and  cheat  and  hate  and  greed 

The  part  of  Virtue  played, 
That  velvet  cloak  that  covered  Need — 

Tis  much  a  masquerade. 

The  Coward  with  the  armor  on 

Who  trembles  in  his  shoes; 
The  Clown,  whose  soul  is  bleak  and  wan, 

Yet  cackles  like  a  goose; 
And  when  the  voices  all  are  dumb, 

The  game  of  day  is  played, 
And  masks  stripped  off  when  Midnight's  come, 

'Twas  all  a  masquerade. 


106 


The    Masquerade 


And  gladness  with  once  merry  wile 

Came  with  hot  tears  just  now, 
And  fell  upon  her  knees  the  while, 

The  jewels  from  her  brow 
All  stripped  and  torn;  and  humbled  so, 

Knelt  in  the  night  and  prayed: 
"God  grant  us  peace,  as  Thou  mayst  know,- 

Have  done  with  masquerade!" 


107 


Tomorrow 


Dear  Little  Lady,  we'll  shed  no  more  tears, 

Let  us  have  done  with  our  crying, 
I  know  that  life  has  its  frets  and  its  fears, 

We  shall  not  cure  them  with  sighing; 
Dear  Little  Lady,  come  dry  your  wet  eyes, 

Put  by  that  sad,  bitter  sorrow, 
Come  and  sit  by  me,  nor  see  the  gray  skies, 

They  shall  be  brighter  tomorrow. 

Blest  Little  Boy  with  that  bruise  on  your  knee, 

And  that  sore  toe  that  is  smarting, 
Won't  you  come  closer  and  sit  here  by  me, 

While  those  hot  tear  drops  are  starting; 
Blest  Little  Boy,  if  the  day  has  no  cheer, 

Some  from  the  future  we'll  borrow, 
I  tell  you  truly  as  I'm  sitting  here, 

You  will  be  happy  tomorrow. 

Sad  Little  Dreamer  whose  face  is  all  wet, 

Wet  with  the  hot  tear  drops  falling, 
Not  a  dream  come  true  to  gladden  you  yet — 

I  can  hear  Hope  clearly  calling; 
Sad  Little  Dreamer,  she's  calling  to  you, 

Bidding  you  put  by  your  sorrow, 
All  of  your  dreams  of  today  shall  come  true, 

They  shall  come  true  on  tomorrow. 


108 


Tomorrow 


Come  all  ye  children  and  listen  to  me, 

Little  folks,  wet-cheeked  and  sobbing, 
Come  with  the  sore  heart  and  still  aching  knee, 

I  know  the  pain  hotly  throbbing; 
Come  and  sit  by  me,  for  I  have  known  youth, 

Youth  with  its  heart-breaking  sorrow, 
Come  and  believe  what  I  say  is  but  truth — 

These  will  be  made  well  tomorrow. 

Frail  Little  Soul  of  mine,  sick  with  its  strife, 

Timid  and  weary  and  sighing, 
Faint  with  the  day's  heavy  burden  of  life, 

Deep  in  the  dim  valleys  crying; 
Frail  Little  Soul  of  mine,  we,  too,  will  rise, 

Up  from  the  valleys  of  sorrow, 
Strive  on  and  dream  on  and  come  near  the  skies — 

Life  will  be  gladder  tomorrow! 


109 


Yesterday 


The  seasons  change,  as  dead  leaves  play, 

The  world  moves  on,  the  pathways  wind, 
And  over  there  sits  Yesterday 

Her  fingers  with  dead  garlands  twined; 
Pathetic,  sorrowful  and  sweet 

She  looks  once  upward  and  away, 
Where  time  moves  on  with  dancing  feet 

Nor  looks  the  once  at  Yesterday. 

Within  her  lap  she  holds  the  joys 

That  were  but  never  more  shall  be, 
The  dreams  and  all  the  broken  toys, 

Shrined  in  the  heart  of  Memory; 
Here  is  a  curl,  a  look,  a  smile, 

That  came  and  was  and  went  away, 
The  laughter  of  some  merry  while, 

Left  in  the  lap  of  Yesterday. 

Perhaps  a  mellow  song  she  sings, 

Some  old  and  quite  forgotten  air, 
A  wandering  breeze  at  twilight  brings 

Soft  fingers  playing  with  her  hair; 
And  voices  whisper  and  she  hears 

The  loves  that  were  but  could  not  stay; 
What  sad  songs  murmur  in  her  ears, 

The  songs  we  sang  but  Yesterday. 


110 


Yesterday 


And  Oh,  such  dreams  she  has  to  hold 

Within  the  lap  of  her  the  while, 
The  dreams  of  cheer,  of  courage  bold, 

Of  great  worlds  conquered  with  a  smile. 
She  lets  them  trickle  from  her  hands, 

The  once  while  their  rare  colors  play, 
And  many  as  the  ocean's  sands, 

The  dreams  we  left  with  Yesterday. 

She  sits,  the  sunset  in  her  eyes 

Of  every  day  that  used  to  be, 
And  every  day  a  new  day  dies 

And  she  shrines  it  in  Memory; 
She  lets  them  trickle  from  her  hands, 

While  all  their  tints  and  colors  play, 
As  on  a  beach  of  jeweled  sands 

Cast  up  from  seas  of  Yesterday. 


Ill 


Last   Verse    of   All 


Good  by!     Your  hand! 

You  understand. 

You  know  the  things  I  want  to  say, 

But  somehow,  in  my  heart  today 

The  words  stick  fast  and  will  not  come. 

I  say  good  hy  and  then  am  dumb. 

I  want  you  to  be  glad  and  blest, 

And — well,  I  know  you  know  the  rest. 

Good  luck!    For  you 

May  skies  be  blue, 

And  sunshine  light  your  every  way. 

I  wish  I  had  the  words  to  say 

What's  in  my  heart — but  tears  will  fall, 

And  so  I  say  "good  luck"— that's  all! 

I  take  with  me  the  memory 

Of  all  real  friendship  means  to  me. 

Hello!     Who  knows? 
Day  comes  and  goes 
And  brings  its  laughter  and  its  tears. 
Who  knows  the  harvest  of  the  years? 
It  may  be  here — it  may  be  there — 
It  may  be  soon,  or  late,  or  ne'er. 
And  if  it  should  be  ne'er — well,  then 
Good  by !    And  here's  my  hand  again. 


112 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY, 
BERKELEY 


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expiration  of  loan  period. 


NOV  4 

JftN   2  1926 
FEB  23  1942  P 

JUN  15    1948 


LSm-12,'24 


YB   12219 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


